Righteous Vendetta
by demonsshade
Summary: What starts as Saul Cousland's quest for revenge quickly escalates into an epic tale of love, deception, violence and redemption. Sequel to Possession, situated between Origins and Awakening.
1. Prologue: Fallacy of Trust

**Prologue: The Fallacy of Trust**

"Father! Father! Is Delilah and Natty with him?" Bryce glanced down at his youngest son, always full of merriment and excitement whenever Arl Howe decided to visit. The Teryn knew his son didn't care much for Rendon himself, preferring instead to play with his friends, Howe's children. Thomas, for whatever reason, remained distant from the Couslands, rarely, if ever, visiting.

"Yes, son. I can see their carriage from here. Your best friend and your one true love, right?" Saul nodded enthusiastically. "You going to marry Delilah?" Another fervent nod. Bryce laughed. "I can arrange that, you know."

"Can you? Can you pleeeeeeeease?" The little Cousland was getting too excited now, grabbing Bryce's pants so fiercely that he feared they'd slip right off. What an embarrassment that would be, what with the soldiers about!

"Of course I can, but you need to do something in return." Bryce knelt down, coming to eye level with his small son.

"Anything!"

"Go help Nan clean our fancy plates." Moaning and groaning, of course. "C'mon. The elves always make it fun! You know you like their singing when they work."

"Fine..." Saul, ever the dramatic one, hung his head and turned, walking slowly away. For added effect he purposefully lost his balance, catching himself on a wall and huffing in exasperation. "My heart, it's failing... can't...breathe..."

"Then you'd better hurry and do those dishes, lest you die first!"

ooo

"Sleep well, my beauty." Saul leaned in, his lips lightly brushing against Delilah's, his hands tracing her body as she pressed against him. Their parting was, as always, unwelcome, bringing nothing but sadness to both. Saul broke away, brushing away tears from Delilah's eyes, smiling. "Will I see you tomorrow, before you leave?"

"You know my father..." She looked down and away. Arl Howe was never one to allow his daughter to sleep around, even if it was with the son of a good friend. Saul hadn't ever liked the Arl much, but truthfully never talked to the man, his presence merely a distant authority figure that put holes in his plans to be with Delilah on a regular basis. "He wants gone before sunrise, as always."

"That doesn't give you very long to sleep." Saul sighed. Maybe he shouldn't have called for her after all, if his actions would only bring her misery if she struggled to stay awake during the day. "Are you sure you'll be fine?"

Delilah smiled, nodding, before kissing Saul again. She departed without another word, a silent goodbye between them. They both hated saying it, as it implied permanence. To say goodbye would be accepting that they would not see each other again the next day. It would be like admitting defeat.

Saul stood in the doorway long after his love departed, an aching feeling clawing at his heart. He had enjoyed the last week, as Delilah visited with her father, as well as Nathaniel and Thomas, for Saul's sixteenth birthday. Of course, he and Delilah had snuck off to participate in more...unorthodox activities, ones Arl Howe and Teyrn Cousland would both disagree to.

Delilah visited only a few times each year, usually on Saul's birthday or other major holidays when she could convince her father to let them come. Arl Howe was strict, but Delilah knew he cared about her. Saul had only ever visited their keep in Amaranthine once because of his protectiveness, but he was awed by the splendor of it. There were also plenty of private areas for the two to have fun with.

Falling back on his bed, Saul gazed at the ceiling. How he wished he could escape this life! He could wander the land, protecting Delilah from bandits with his bow, saving people, slaying dragons and whatnot. Yet...that could never come true.

His father always called Saul an realist, not an idealist, and though the teenager never admitted it, Bryce was right. Saul knew, somewhere inside, that he would be burdened with the mantle of being a Teyrn's son for the rest of his life, and would possibly even inherit the title. There was no escaping.

Moaning, the boy turned over, burying his face in his pillows. If only Delilah was still here, then he'd have something to hold.

ooo

Saul shuffled, barely managing to keep himself upright as the guardsmen pushed him from behind.

"Watch it, asshole! I'm the Teyrn's son!" Anger clawed at him. Saul wanted nothing less than to see this guard hanged for how the man was treating him. So he dug into a Lady Cecilia's panty drawer, stole a few jewels, and he killed her dog. Who cares? The dog wasn't even mabari, so it was useless!

"Yeah, yeah. You keep saying that." Obviously the guard didn't believe him. So now what? Were they going to toss him in a cell to rot for the rest of his life? Cut his hand off? Kill his dog? No. Saul would never let them get Octavius. That dog was much better than that mutt Saul silenced.

"I'm telling the truth!" The guard pushed him inside the cell, closing the door behind him.

"Maybe you are, maybe you aren't. I sure as hell don't care." And he left, just like that.

Would father even know? Would he ever be free?

ooo

"Maker! I'm so glad you're okay!" His mother wrapped her arms around Saul, pressing his head against her bosom. "How were you? Did they hurt you? What happened?"

"Don't coddle him, Eleanor. He's deserved what he got." Bryce walked in, arms folded, a grave look of disappointment on his face.

"Oh, don't be angry at him, Bryce. You were worried sick when he didn't come home two days ago."

"I'm not angry."

"Yes you are."

Saul maintained his silence, as he had been all of the 48 hours he'd been stuck in this damp, stinking hole. He had thought he was going to die in here, alone and forgotten. How stupid of him.

"We'll talk more at the castle. Guard, help my son up." Bryce looked back at Saul, still staring at the ground in shame. "Maybe this will teach you not to break the law. If I wasn't the Teyrn, you may well have been left in there the rest of your life."

How unfair... But that's life. Saul sighed, standing. He didn't listen to his father rant about what he could and could not do as a noble. Saul was already formulating a plan for the next time he robbed Lady Cecilia, and next time he won't be punished.

It isn't illegal unless you're caught. Saul kept that close to his heart.

ooo

"Dear Maker, brother. I'd think you'd be a little less obvious about this sort of thing." And there was Fergus, standing in the doorway to the storage room. Delilah tore herself from Saul's arms in embarrassment, but Fergus had already seen what he needed to. "What would Arl Howe think, huh?"

"Aren't we already going to be married for some political reason? We're going to wind up together anyways, so why bother conforming to some old man's foolish protective nature?" Saul intimidatingly took a step forward. "You'd better not tell them."

Fergus was unimpressed.

"Don't threaten me, kiddo. I'm bigger than you, stronger too. Why, if I had..." Fergus' voice stopped with the air rushing out of his lungs, pushed out by the impact of Saul's shoulders on his stomach. They grappled, each trying to pull the other to the ground, but Fergus was too strong, and Saul too quick, for either to get into a dominant position.

"Foolish...brother..." Saul huffed out, straining the difficulty of fending off his brother. "You know...I can...beat you in a fight."

"You can certainly try!" By then Delilah had disappeared, and Saul was no longer in any danger. But, being brothers, they had to outdo one another, so they continued.

It took awhile, but eventually the elven servants managed to pull them apart, with the help of a half dozen guardsmen, of course.

They were tied.

ooo

"Steady, keep your elbow positioned just like that. Ignore the weariness in your arms, these are strong bows after all." Ser Lowan stood by Saul, talking to him in a low voice while Saul concentrated on the target. "When you think you're ready, fire."

Saul hesitated for a moment before firing. His arrow dug into the frame of the wooden target, as much of a bulls-eye as Lady Cecilia was attractive. Which she wasn't.

Wait, then why did he bother digging through her panty drawer?

"Good shot, considering you're not in an actual fight. Pull something like that in battle and you'll be dead before you can say so." Damnable Lowan. The man was nice enough, and Saul enjoyed spending time with the soldier, but he was harsh in his teachings.

"You might as well say 'You suck.', you know? I can take that much." Saul's arms drooped, his spirit defeated.

"But you don't suck! What other man could miss the target so spectacularly?" Lowan roared, laughing, a deep bellowing, friendly sound. Eventually he quieted down, wiping tears from his eyes. "Everyone starts like that, though. I'm sure you'll be a master if you kept at it."

"I wish."

ooo

Sweat running down Saul's neck, his heart racing. This was more nerve wracking than the first time he stripped Delilah. And he did that with his teeth!

Mentally fortifying himself, Saul forced his arm to stop shaking, his eyes to focus on the target. The championship was on the line here, and if he won...well...that would help his pride and ego a damnable amount.

"2640 feet...curse whoever thought the final round had to be a half-mile. Everyone but one person completely missed the target, and he only barely got the arrow into the arm!" Saul sighed, staring at the barely visible target. He'd have to shoot at an angle, and it was ridiculously difficult to aim like that.

Saul let go as soon as his nervousness peaked, one pant away from a mental breakdown. The arrow soared into the air, arcing in the air, and then falling.

The crowd was silent for those few, terrifying seconds. Saul's arms fell, his gaze focused on the straw man so far away.

Saul's arrow struck home, straight on the bulls-eye. The crowd erupted into wild cheers, and Saul could see a smile crossing his father's face. Bryce was proud, and that made him happy. He also saw Ser Lowan, disbelievingly shaking his head and smiling.

Bow dropping from his grasp, he collapsed on the ground. Those years of practice had worked. He was only twenty and already could be considered a master archer.

Now if only there was a competition of thievery...

Saul smiled. He'd just have to break into another house and make sure he was still a master lockpick, as a celebration. Saul was sure Delilah would reward him for winning as well. He could already see her smiling shyly at him from within the noble's box.

Maker, this was a fine day.

ooo

"I've told you before I don't believe in the Maker, Mallol." Saul rolled his eyes, simultaneously making an impression that he was hanging himself.

"Your soul is lost indeed, then. How sad that you will remain in ignorance for the entirety of your life." Mother Mallol paced in front of him in the empty Chantry room. It had always annoyed Saul to high heaven that his father and mother wanted a place to pray in at their own castle.

"My 'soul' is not lost, only your arrogance demands that you think so." Saul laid down on the bench, exasperated. He'd gone through this many times before with the woman, and she never seemed to understand that he was not some poor, wretched thing simply because he thought Andraste and the Maker were bullshit.

"When you die, what do you suppose happens, if you're correct?"

"How the hell should I know? Who's supposed to find out these sorts of things?" Saul just wanted to get the annoying woman away from him. "You agree that humans can't discover this on their own, right? So why do you follow the word of some crinkled dead woman who happened to get burned at the stake?"

"Don't speak so foully about Andraste! She is your savior, and you would do well to remember that!" Mallol was outraged now, just like she usually got when someone disagreed with her.

"Great. Blind yourself to reality. Go ahead and wrap yourself in a cloak of logical fallacy, if that helps you cope. I don't give a shit about Andraste, okay?"  
Mother Mallol stormed out, seething. Saul sighed. Now his mother and father would get mad because he was supposedly being disrespectful.

"So much for religious tolerance." Saul groaned, forcing himself to stand up. "Apparently atheists don't apply."

ooo

"We...can't do this any more." Delilah looked down and away. What was she saying? What did she mean? She can't be... "My father...knows about us. We can't continue. I'm sorry. He even... called off our engagement."

"Wait...Delilah! No!" And she just walked out. Saul was being abandoned by the woman he loved; the woman he thought he'd spend the rest of his life with. An aching feeling crawled into his chest. Fuck Howe! Why did he have to decide how his daughter lived his life?

Saul unleashed his anger in form of fist against wall, the impact cracking one of his knuckles. Saul didn't care. The pain in his heart was worse.

Why didn't Delilah put up a fight? Didn't their relationship matter? Sinking to his knees, desperation gripping him, Saul could do nothing but cry.

ooo

"What's with your dog? He seems so...angry." Damn it. Why'd Iona have to wake him up? She was such a bore since he met her earlier that day, talking about nothing but her daughter Amethyne. She was attractive, so Saul had to do something with her, but was putting up with her annoying nature worth the sex?

"Then go put Octavius outside..." Saul rolled over, but his eyes shot open as he fell off the bed, slamming into the cold stone floor. "Fuck...I'll be lucky if I manage to sleep after that."

"Can you...can you do it? Your dog is scaring me." Iona shifted on her feet nervously, glaring at the dog. Saul, evidently not caring, just fiddled with his bow, which he kept under his bed at all times.

"Just open the door, he's been trained..." Saul notched an arrow, aiming at the wall, pulling the bowstring back until it was right to his ear. Perfect form, of course. He was trained by the best.

"Alright then." He heard Iona's footsteps, and the lock being undone by her hand.

Little did Saul know that in only a few seconds time Iona would be dead, and his life changed forever.

ooo

"Mother's dead... Iona's dead... Oren and Oriana too..." Saul leaned against the wall, buckling up the last strap to his leather armor. He knew he would soon follow them, but there had to be a way out. He couldn't simply lie down and die!

Saul slammed the wall with his first, tears streaming down his face. "Why would Howe do this to us... Delilah wouldn't...she couldn't have...known...?"

It all made sense now, but what could he do? Saul was trapped here, in the Cousland Castle. He was safe for the moment, but he knew more soldiers would come. He needed some better armor, so that he could at least put up a fight before he was slaughtered. Fingering the key to the treasury he took from his mother's corpse, Saul slowly walked down the hallway.

Why was he still afraid of death, despite what had happened?

ooo

The arrow struck the mage dead in-between the eyes. Normally Saul would feel satisfaction at such a perfect shot, but given the circumstances...

"Saul! My lord! It is good to see you still live!" Ser Gilmore motioned the remaining soldiers to bar the door, swiftly moving closer to the young Cousland. "Do you know where the Teyrna is? Bryce was looking for her when he came through here."

"My mother is dead...murdered while she slept." Saul's voice was monotone. So much death was...overwhelming. He didn't know what to think, how to feel, how to act. "Arl Howe betrayed us, he attacks while the army is away!"

"That bastard!" Ser Gilmore stomped his foot, glancing at the doorwar. "But there is still a chance for you to escape. The Teyrn told me of a passage in the cellar, maybe you know of it."

"I do." Although it seemed distant by now, Saul remembered using the passage to sneak out of the house to pilfer the houses of unsuspecting noblemen in Highever. "Come with me, Gilmore. You should survive, at least."

He only shook his head. Saul's spirits shrunk even further.

"My place is here with my men. My sworn duty is to protect you, and that is what I shall do. If I must die so you may live, so be it." Gilmore grabbed Saul's arm, pulling him close. "It was a pleasure serving you, my lord."

Saul nodded dumbly, knowing Gilmore's fate. Another body to add to those already fallen.

ooo

The Family Blade slit the knight's throat easily, sliding in between the crease in the armor and out just as quickly, blood spilling out over Saul. That was that last of the soldiers between him and the cellar. He had to move quickly.

The young Cousland felt grim satisfaction as he looked at the corpses around him. With the help of two soldiers he had recruited along the way, Saul was alive, and nearly out of the castle.

The soldiers gave their lives for him, Ser Gilmore was defending the main doorway. Iona died, inadvertently saving Saul's own life.

Why did so many have to die for his sake?

He had to take vengeance. He had to restore their honor. For his Mother, for Oren, for Oriana, for everyone who died so that Saul may live.

Saul gripped the handle to the cellar. The Howes, every last one of them, must die.

ooo

Despite his vow, leaving his own father behind was something that tore at Saul. Bryce was wounded, near dying, and all he thought about was the safety of his son. Such honor, and such conviction...

Saul knew he should have stayed, he should have fought, to defend his home...but he couldn't. Turning around, Saul gazed on the burning castle, smoke rising into the night sky. There were no more screams now, each one silenced by the hands of that murderous bastard, Rendon Howe.

He would die, and die slowly. So would Nathaniel, and Thomas, and his wife, and...and even Delilah.

Yes. They all deserved it. Each and every one of them.

Those murderous thoughts occupied his mind for the rest of that night as he fled, and the entirety of the next day, and the next. He fled in the direction of the Circle Tower, hoping to find some degree of sanctuary there. Hopefully, he could rest and supply there, and then...

And then what? How could he get to Howe? Where would Howe be? Saul needed information, location, defenses, vulnerability, everything.

The Couslands would have their revenge.

ooo

Ser Lowan screamed as the thumbscrew turned, crushing his middle finger and index finger. The knight begged, pleaded to be let go, that he'd tell Saul everything that he knew, just so that he could be free from the pain.

"Oh, I'll free you from the pain. Don't worry." Saul spoke in low tones, a false comfort. He took no pleasure from this, despite the effort involved in capturing the Captain of Arl Howe's guard. Soon he'd have the location of the Arl's family, who'd die first, before he moved in and slaughtered the main bastard himself. But he still felt no satisfaction watching this man suffer. It was undoubtedly because he only served the Howe's, he wasn't one himself.

Temporarily letting the thumbscrew loosen, Lowan gasped, his back arcing against the pain. Saul was briefly worried that the table Lowan was chained to wouldn't hold, and the man would break free, but he dismissed them as wild, careless thoughts.

"You will tell me where Arl Howe and his family are, won't you? You will also tell me why your company of men was separate from his main battalion. I also want any other information you view as important. If you lie, I will know, and you will suffer more." Saul smiled to add to the effect. Ser Lowan was terrified, his eyes wide with panic and pain, sweat dripping from his body.

"The Arl is dead... Please, he's already gone, don't do this."

"You lie!" Another turn of the thumbscrew. Ser Lowan's face contorted with a silent scream, his body trembling.

"I...I..." Saul let the thumbscrew go loose again, waiting a few moments for the soldier to regain his composure. "I speak... the truth. His family has been dishonored, Saul. I'm not part of his army any more! Please, just let me go! I have a wife and two kids!"

"I don't care what family you have." Another turn. Another scream. It was almost getting repetitive. Howe was dead? If it's true, then what purpose does Saul have? Why did he bother killing Lowan's men and capturing the knight? Was it all in vain?

No. It wasn't. His goal was to kill all of the Howe's, not just Rendon. He still needed information about the rest of the family, so they could die too.

"Fine. If Howe is dead, what about his wife and kids?"

"They...went into hiding...after the Battle of Denerim. Last I heard, his wife died of shock, or some such thing. Thomas disappeared, but he's dead, I think." Saul rubbed his temples. Why was his work being done for him? This wasn't supposed to be how it worked. He wanted to watch each one die in agony, their faces contorted hideously with pain. Now he'd never get that... "Nathaniel...vowed revenge against...the Grey Wardens...for the murder of his father. He left after that, with his armor and weapons ready. He...had a vendetta...and he said he'd see it through to the end."

"And Delilah?" A slight twinge in his heart. Saul pushed it down, like he did every time he thought of her in the past year, ever since he saw the bodies of his family.

"You'd even kill her?" Lowan struggled against the chains, his eyes fearful. "I thought you two loved each other. You always had! Why would you do this?"

"Because she is a Howe. She needs to die." Saul narrowed his eyes. "You will tell me where she is, Ser Lowan, or you will suffer the same fate as they!"

"I...cannot... I...She has done nothing wrong." Lowan's eyes were in tears now. "Don't do this...please... You can just walk away..."

"Can my family walk away, after what Howe has done?" Saul sighed, relaxing the thumbscrew completely. "I don't need you anymore, if you won't tell me anything."

"Will you...let me go...?" Lowan's eyes had a slight twinge of hope in them. Better correct that.

"You already know the answer to that, Ser Lowan." Saul smiled, drawing his dagger, licking the blade.

Lowan's dying screams could be heard for miles.


	2. Both Savior and Murderer

**Chapter 1: Both Savior and Murderer**

"Are you sure you can't simply let me go?" Myr smiled nervously at the men approaching her. They had been looking for her for a long time, and it showed on their faces, shallow and angered.

"Your crimes will be answered to. Myr, you are hereby sentenced to death." The leader of the soldiers drew his sword, pointing it threateningly at the elf girl. "By order of the Divine and through the guidance of the Maker, our righteous duty shall be done."

Myr had a witty comeback, but it caught in her throat when the sword came after her, striking the air in the spot she had stood only a half second before. While she was glad the first attack didn't end her life, the rest of the men were advancing on her now, weapons drawn, and she couldn't help but feel unlucky.

Drawing her dagger, the elf backed away slowly, eyes darting while she desperately searched for an escape. She was in the middle of nowhere, literally. It was just a single dust road marking passage through the vast grasslands that was the Bannorn. Only a few sparse trees could give cover, if she could even get to them.

_ How the hell did they find me? _Myr danced back a step after a second swing from one of the men, but it put her slightly off balance. She only barely avoided the third attack. It was apparent that her life would end soon and if one of them pulls out a bow, it'll be over even faster.

"You don't think..." Myr darted behind a tree as an axe buried into it, cutting a single strand of her snow-white hair off, the wind displaced from the strike ruffling it. "Damn it. Do you know how much effort I put into my hair?" As if that was her biggest problem right now...

"Your hair won't matter when you're dead, apostate."

"They didn't send anybody to kill me last time I escaped!" Admittedly, that was over two years ago. "Besides, if I hadn't left I would have died in that abomination rebellion. I saved myself!"

"You'll die anyway, mage."

"Didn't that Hero of Ferelden guy make the mages free of the Chantry?"

"Be silent and die, heathen!" Another dodge. If Myr so much as stood still and stopped planning, they'd surround her. And then...

Another swing, but this one struck home. The blade slashed through her arm sleeves, cutting her lightly. It wasn't a deadly wound, but it put the elf girl off balance, opening her wide for a more lethal strike.

The nearest man took the opportunity, sword extending towards her heart. Myr closed her eyes, knowing death was upon her. She escaped death only to find death. Pity.

The killing blow never came, though. The men had gone silent, but Myr wasn't sure why. Why wasn't she lying on the floor, bleeding to death?

_It can't be..._ Myr opened her eyes slowly, to find the nearest two of her attackers lying on the ground, arrows sprouting from them, their lifeblood pooling, weighing down the dust as it struggled to rise.

The rest of the men had started searching for the assailant, but Myr saw him first. It was a young man a distance away to the west, perpendicular to the road, bow in hand and string pulled back. Noticing him, the men started charging to him, shields raised. The sniper was a great distance away, but that would make aiming that much harder.

_He couldn't possibly kill one of these guys from so far away...His first two shots had to be lucky._ Or maybe he could. His next arrow dug itself in the eye of one man, then a second arrow caught a man in the heart. Four men lay on the ground, bleeding to death after only a few moments. Whoever the archer was, he was good. Really good.

Finally, things were looking up for her. Myr smiled, bringing her dagger in front of her. There were only three more attackers left.

Nope. Two. An arrow lodged itself in the skull of the back-most man, his corpse slumping on the ground. The remaining two, seeing their dead comrades, turned and ran, legs pumping hard as they tried to flee the archers aim.

They couldn't. Both fell from arrows, their bodies adding to those already sent to the Maker. Myr couldn't help but feel satisfaction. She was still alive, despite everything. She couldn't help but laugh, even though it was only due to relief.

She had to thank the sniper, whoever he was. Except... he was leaving? He didn't even want to hide the bodies?

"W-Wait!" Myr took off running, hoping to catch up to the man, despite the distance.

It took her a while.

ooo

"Wait..." Myr's voice came in gasps, so great was her exhaustion. She'd chased the man for over an hour, and though she knew he heard her, the archer never bothered slowing his absurd pace. It was only when he set up camp for the night that he finally halted, allowing Myr to join him. "I just...wanted...to thank you...and...why the hell couldn't...you...wait...?"

"You were following me?" The man looked up at her quizzically, his face confused. It was only then that Myr finally saw him, and suddenly she nearly regretted following him. The man was young, but beat up. Bags under his eyes, face sunken and face matted with patches of beard. He looked like he'd been living in the Wilds of all places, with no proper food or water. If he was some crazy nomad, this probably wasn't such a great idea... "I didn't realize."

What a blatant lie.

"I want to thank you for saving me." Myr approached him, hand outstretched. The man simply stared at it. "I...uh...probably would have died if you hadn't attacked those men."

ooo

_Why was she still here?_ Saul turned over on his bedroll. He hadn't meant for the girl he saved to track him down and stay with him. He glanced at her, tending the fire and cooking some strange creature she claimed was edible. _She has to leave..._

"Listen, girl..."

"What's your name?" She interrupted him. Damn it. Saul wasn't sure how to react. He hadn't talked to anyone on a normal basis in over a year. Conversations were alien to him. Might as well simply tell the truth.

"Saul."

"No last name?" The girl gave him a sly smile. "Or do you simply not want to tell me? I won't pry. We all have our secrets."

"Some have more than others." Saul, suddenly unsure what to say, fiddled with his bow, which he always kept by his side.

"Aren't you going to ask me my name? How impolite!"

"Fine. What's your name?" Saul looked up at her, noticing her eyes. They were light purple, odd, consider how she also had white hair. People can't have that color eyes and hair, so why...?

"I'm Myr Laurae, a mage of the Circle of Magi...or I was, at least."

"You're an apostate?" Shocked as Adrian was at the though, ut was simply a question, not a form of judgment, and Saul hoped she would take it as such. Wait? What? He hoped for that? Why was he relying on the opinions and reactions of others?

"Yup. I've been out of the Circle Tower since before the Blight started, and I guess all the darkspawn surfacing must have prevented them from chasing me. Now that it's over, though... Well, I'm surprised you haven't jumped up and attack me yet. Most people hate mages, even more so if they get out of the Circle."

"I imagine that meant those men I killed were Templars?" Saul sighed. Great. Another cause for people to start investigating into him. Maybe he shouldn't have saved her. "They weren't wearing their usual armor."

"They were disguised." Simple as that, huh? "They wanted to ambush me."

"Are you some sort of Abomination?" Saul gestured to her, gazing at her hair and eyes. What odd colors...

"Because of the way I look?" Myr rolled her eyes, gazing back at the fire and the creature she was cooking. "I was born this way. The tranquil doctor in the Tower said I had albinism, or something like that. He also mentioned something about melons, though I wasn't sure."

Albinism? There was a servant at the Cousland Castle who had that condition, except he had red eyes and light blonde hair. The pale skin was the same, though. It was curious, but ultimately useless, information. The key was not who this girl was, but how he'd deal with having another person around him.

"Say, since you protected me, I was wondering if I could ask you one more favor." Myr glanced back at Saul, who was still staring at her hair. "Can I...travel with you? From the direction we're heading, we should hit Denerim within a week, and if you could just take me there, I..."

Having her follow him would be a burden, as he'd have to watch after two people, not just himself. And considering she was an apostate, that would make things even more difficult. But...how long had it been since he had a proper meal...

Fine. If she was going to cook she was useful, thus the detriments of having her along would be overshadowed by the positive aspects.

It wasn't like Saul planned on murdering anyone else anytime soon, so this Myr girl would likely never find out.

'Tis better that way.

"Fine. You can come with me, but only to Denerim." Saul laid back down on his bedroll, still fiddling with the bow. "In return for escorting you, I want you to cook for me every night, just like this. Wake me when the food is ready, and make sure you keep watch!"

Myr only smiled.

ooo

Sword at throat, the peasant didn't struggle much. He just stared at Rayne, fear and a hint of anger showing.

"P-Please... I-I-I don't know anything!" He just blubbered, his words hardly coherent. Rayne spat, disgusted. Fear drove this man to becoming a pathetic wretch. He was better off dead.

"If you don't know anything, you die. Where is Vilhm Madon?"

"You're the King's men! Why are you doing this?" The man was near pissing his pants now.

"Where is he!" Rayne brought herself closer, a hair away from the merchant's face. Rayne could hear the soldiers behind her shifting on their feet, unnerved by the display. The blade on the man's neck was near drawing blood now.

"I don't know anymore! I only know...I only know he's in hiding right now. I wouldn't know where..." Rayne relaxed her grip, letting the man fall backwards, gripping the wall to keep himself standing. "Please... I have a wife and kids..."

Rayne just stared, eventually turning around and walking away. She could tell the man was finally realizing he was safe, that he wasn't going to die after all. Rayne ran a hand across her neck as she passed a soldier. He shuddered, knowing what it meant.

The peasant didn't understand what was going on until two men advanced on him, pulling him to the ground and raising their axe. He screamed, but nobody came to help him. He pleaded, begged and whined all the way until his head was severed.

"Captain, are you sure this is right?" A shaken soldier asked as Rayne passed, finally severing the silence that had fallen over their patrol.

"Curb your tongue, or you'll find your head on the ground soon enough." Rayne turned away, outwardly portraying cold acceptance.

Inwardly, she didn't understand either. Why was Adrian giving these orders? Why was this Vilhm Madon so important as to execute these people?

What was going on?

Rayne led her troupe back to the palace in silence, their presence causing every street urchin and commoner to scuffle out of the way hurriedly. Even the nobles grew nervous in their presence.

There was fear, Rayne knew, but nobody knew the source of it. The people didn't know who to blame in the rapid change of events, and as thus simply withdrew while they sought out answers.

Rayne wasn't in any better of a position. Adrian was searching for Vilhm, and he did so with a fervor she'd never seen in him before.

It was desperation. But why?

ooo

"And there's these nasty rumors going around about him, too!" Myr shuddered, and Saul couldn't help but marvel at the level of animation she was showing. It was...odd to be in the company of other people again, to see reactions he could understand, to talk and be noisy, not constantly enveloped in the silence of nature.

"But is the Chancellor actually doing what they say he is?" Saul was intrigued at this. Everything in recent history was new to him. He knew of the Blight, but kept far away from the Horde during his exile. Yet he had no idea that King Cailan died, as well as there being a new monarch, and the addition of a Grey Warden Chancellor. A mage, nonetheless! "And what do you think he's after?"

"Obviously, he's looking for something he knows threatens his power. That's how corrupt rulers always act. Except he's being quiet about it, he doesn't want any open riots or rampant fear going about the city." Myr turned away, gazing out at Denerim, which they could see in the distance, just to the South-east. The two had been walking for hours, yet Myr seemed to show no signs of exhaustion, unlike Saul had expected. She was strong, as if she was used to days of walking, though her slender frame seemed to forbid that notion. She had claimed to have been running from the Circle for some time, maybe she had spent time in solitary exile just as Saul had? "Truth be told, I don't know much about the chancellor. Don't even know his name, but yeah, I'd believe he's actually doing it. I don't trust people in positions of power. Period."

"Why not?" Saul winced, considering his family was very much influential, although he had no authority as it was.

"Because humans are naturally selfish and unrealistic. If one is in the position of power, they'd want all the authority, try to make every decisions themselves and think that they're doing a good job, no matter what." Myr sighed. "They'll undermine any sort of equality in people. They become dictators, tyrants and bastards who has only one desire: More power."

"Not every human king becomes a dictator."

"Most do." Now it was Saul's turn to sigh.

"You only hold that position because you're an elf."

"I maintain that many, if not most, human decisions are bad ones. Like the creation of the Circle of Magi, or all the distrust towards the Dalish." Myr folded her arms.

"Most consider magic to be dangerous, you know."

"I've dealt with that fact most of my life."

Saul wasn't sure what to say now. The girl's mood suddenly seemed dampened. A few scatterings of things to say came to mind, but ultimately he felt the best thing to say was nothing. They walked in silence.

"Everyone is afraid of something." Myr muttered eventually. "Some simply fear their god, others prefer their object of disdain to be more earthly, like elves or mages. Fear provides an out for their troubles, a quick thing to blame in times of need. A scapegoat."

"Not every human relies upon fear." Saul glanced at the dying sun, sinking in the distance. "For some, other emotions drive them. Like anger, or desire. Everyone lives their life differently."

"No two people are the same." The elf hung her head, kicking up dust as she walked. "They told us that mages were evil, though, without an exception. We were bombs just waiting to go off. Weapons that should be kept under lock and key."

"They?"

"The templars. Our 'guardians.' They hated us, vilified us! Even the new recruits were so brainwashed as to believe their putrid nonsense about the 'evils' of my kind. Their helmets just... made them seem even less human than they already did. They had no faces for us to launch our anger at. For some, it made it easier to hate them. For others, it only made them seem invulnerable." Myr glanced up, a sly smile playing on her face. "But we always got them back. Never violently, or anything, but we got our revenge in small ways."

"How so?" Mages pulling pranks? Mirth tugged at the corners of Saul's mouse, but he withheld it. To laugh would be to relax, and he knew he should never do that.

"I remember a friend of mine was once falsely accused of pilfering chocolate from the storage caverns. He repaid the templar that framed him by summoning fade fleas to torment the man." Myr giggled. "Of course that only got him in more trouble, but he became somewhat of a hero."

"What happened to him?"

"Well, he was sent to Ostagar right after his Harrowing. Nobody was sure why, but I think it's because of the prank." Myr looked away. "A cruel fate, for one so innocent as he."

"Ostagar?" The name sounded familiar. Something important happened there, something that had started a plethora of rumors in the few towns Saul visited while in exile. "Didn't something really bad happen there?"

"The darkspawn army killed King Cailan there, as well as nearly every Grey Warden in Ferelden." Myr stared into Saul's eyes. "You really have been disconnected from reality, haven't you?"

"I've had more important things to deal with."

"More important than an event that reshaped Ferelden?"

"To me, yes." The sun had sunk beneath the western horizon now, last rays of light playing on Denerim, in the distance. It was almost beautiful, but Saul wasn't sure if he could appreciate it.

"And what would that be?" Myr leaned against of the sparse trees they passed. Saul noticed she was tired, and he was as well.

"We'll camp here tonight. Let's get away from the road before it's dark." Saul motioned towards a copse. "In those trees would be preferable."

"Cautious of the road?" Myr smirked. "You afraid of something?"

"You're an apostate. You should be fearful one."

"Well, dashing rogues usually save me from them every time."

Saul was taken aback by her comment, his hands unconsciously reaching to his scratchy beard and unkempt hair, running to his shoulders. He couldn't possibly be called handsome, considering how he hadn't even had a bath in a few months. Oh. She was being sarcastic.

"It's probably best not to insult your saviors." Saul broke through the thin wall of leaves, entering the copse. "Especially one who is armed."

Myr just laughed. "Touche. I'll keep that in mind."

ooo

Myr slept well, at least until Saul woke her in the middle of the night, telling her it was her turn to watch. And then he demanded she stayed away from the fire! Such injustices...

"Protect my vision in the dark, by the Maker's golden arse." Myr sat in the cold, uncomfortable stillness that was the treetop. She could see Saul below, turning in his sleep. He did that a lot, it seemed. Was he having nightmares?  
The elf girl gazed out at the Bannorn, cloaked in the darkness that was night, illuminated only slightly by the crescent moon hanging in the sky. There wasn't much to look at, just the darkened plains of the uninspiring grasslands. It reminded her of the Tower of Magi, in a way.

Myr was genuinely surprised that Saul let her stay with him, despite her being an apostate. She had decided to tell him sooner, rather than later, of that fact, as if he had found out she was an illegal mage on his own, he would likely have been less accepting. Or maybe he would have reacted the same? There was no way to tell.

She had walked with Saul most of the day as well as the last couple of days. Every night he demanded they take turns watching the roads for signs of people searching for them, or darkspawn, or any sort of danger.

He was too fearful, almost to the point of paranoia. Always watching, careful like a hawk. Saul definitely was an odd person. Maybe it would have been best if she hadn't requested his presence?

No. She was safer this way. Saul was strange, sure, but he was a decent enough conversation and was most likely not insane. The only thing Myr had left to wonder was why Saul was so mysterious, and why he seemed like he'd been living off grasses and roots for his entire life.

"Maybe he has..." Myr muttered under her breath, eyes still wandering the still blackness that surrounded her. "Maybe he's Chasind!"

That'd be exciting.

But he didn't look it, obviously. Chasind had dark skin and hair, but Adrian was light, fair skinned with blonde hair. Unkempt as he was, his skin did seem unusually delicate for one who claimed to be a nomad.

Everyone has their own circumstances, she tried to tell herself. Not everyone needs to know everything about everyone else.

But she couldn't help but wonder, of course.

Myr laid back against the tree, turning her gaze to the sky, brazenly ignoring her duties as watch-girl. Her mind turned to her memories, long ago as they seemed.

Everything in her life seemed to have stopped when she left the Circle tower. The only time she had ever met people was the rare occasions she visited town. Myr had tried to seek out the Dalish, but to no avail. When she realized that attempt was without merit, she tried to leave Ferelden, but was stopped by the harsh storms of the Frostback Mountains. She stayed in Denerim for awhile, meeting quite a few people, some more important than others, but she eventually left.

In short, the year she spent outside the Circle was spent doing nothing. Wandering, eating, sleeping, fighting bandits and darkspawn and doing whatever she could to somehow stay attractive through it all. Of course, her physical appearance mattered above all, being a girl and all.

"As if the templars care how pretty the apostates they cut down are..." Myr's mind instantly went back to the Circle, back to her life there. She didn't remember anything before coming to the circle, but she knew somehow she was always a wanderer. The templars brought her when she was 14, but she must have hit her head along the way as she knew nothing of her past except a few scattered fragments of Denerim and a woman she supposed was her mother.

Myr never adjusted to Circle life, always trying to find a way out. She escaped the first time only a week after being brought there, only to be found gazing at Lake Calenhad on the southern end of the island housing the Circle Tower.

The elf snickered as she recalled the event. She was caught by surprise at the fervor of their organization when they prepared to look for her. They shouted, yelled, panicked and afraid of something, anything. The templars always overreacted to everything, even when it was simply a girl getting some fresh air.

And now they wanted to kill her. Myr sighed. Once she got to Denerim, she'd need another purpose. Something, anything, to give her a reason to keep going.

The elf had no reason to exist, after all. She'd escaped her home...for what? So she could wander the countryside, bored and alone with nothing to do and nobody to talk to? Maybe that was why she was so open to Saul, because she was craving interaction?

Myr fell into sleep slowly, ignoring her job. Saul would be unhappy, she knew, but there was nothing she could do about it. Nothing would happen in one night. Nothing exciting.

Because nothing special ever happened in her life.


	3. Entwined Desperation

**Chapter 2: Entwined Desperation**

_ "I'm sorry, Revered Mother. I need you to evacuate." _

_ "I won't just abandon my people."_

_ "If you don't leave you will die. I can't...I can't let you do that."_

_ "The Maker forbids that we abandon those in need."_

_ "I...very well then. Goodbye, Revered Mother. I wish you well, though I fear that may never come true."_

_ "Be safe, Ser Bryant."_

_ And the templar commander left, only a handful of his men staying behind to meet their inevitable fate with the other villagers. He tried not to look back at the Revered Mother as he left the Chantry, head hung and struggling to keep focused on what lay ahead. It was useless. He saw her faux mask of strength as he closed the door. She was trembling secretly, he knew. There was no hope. Not for her. Not for any of them._

_ Saul understand it all as he stood amidst the rushed bustle of the Chantry. They talked, those scared refugee's, in quiet tones, unable to be loud or merry with the threat of darkspawn amongst them. Unable to think, to feel, to hear beyond that which they saw was inevitable._

_ The horde had been sighted not a day's march from Lothering. The Wardens who were rumored to have passed through were long gone. The templars no longer there to protect them. The remaining villagers could do nothing but cower in corners, tears streaking their faces with no hope of reprieve._

_ Fear hung amongst them, a coarse sheet filled with uncertainty and the looming threat. Children clung to their fathers, their mothers, sisters or brothers, scared and shaking. Some were simply alone, small figures forgotten among the scattered belongings of others. Nobody bothered to look. They didn't matter._

_ But Saul could also hear the leaders fearful conversations in the Revered Mother's room. These people were supposed to inspire, to motivate, to take up the mantle of Martyr as their people struggled to escape. But they were cowards, every one of them. They were unworthy of survival, for they refused to act due to their terror. They did nothing, not even fleeing. They cried, and prayed, and huddled together, too afraid even to move._

_ So Saul left them to their doom. A single man unburdened by trivial belongings could escape from the horde, where a family might not. Why did they keep together? Their children could not run fast, their wives would only stumble and fall, forcing the husbands to stay behind._

_ Why didn't they do whatever possible to live? What use is there to remain immobile, unable to strike out against that which draws you into a corner, destroying all which you have known? What mattered was to live, and these people ignored that, choosing instead to die with their children, who could not be saved anyways._

_ Saul watched from a clifftop, the horde destroying the town in the distance, only a couple of stray dots with small threads of smoke coming up. Too far to hear the screams, but they echoed in his mind nonetheless. He knew the templars who fled would not survive either. He passed them many days ago, moving at too slow a pace. They would be overtaken by the horde within a day or two at most._

_ The other refugees would be next. The ones who fled weeks before, those that thought themselves safe would soon fall as well. They would not even make it halfway to Redcliffe._

_ Saul, the exile, simply stood staring at the destruction. If he stayed behind he would die, and his vengeance would remain unsatiated. There was no pleasure in abandoning Lothering, but there was no choice either. They had to die, it was inevitable, and they brought it upon themselves._

_ He turned away, walking away from their pain, their terror, their need. No point helping them now. The horde could not be stopped. It pained him to say so, but Howe mattered more than Lothering. His revenge occupied more of his mind than that of the deaths of the villagers. The Couslands would be avenged with no exception. Saul refused to die until then, even if it would save Lothering._

_ No. There was no point in even wondering about it. Lothering would be destroyed regardless of whether he helped or not. It was lost... forever._

Saul woke from the nightmare only to see an albino elf succumb to gravity, swiftly falling towards him. He had no time to think, only to react. Why did Myr fall from the tree?

ooo

Falling out of the tree probably saved Myr's life, though she certainly didn't feel like it when she woke up descending rapidly towards Saul. He noticed her in time to move out of the way, and Myr had a brief wonder of why he didn't bother to catch her.

Then she hit the ground. Bruised, Myr struggled onto her hands and knees, mumbling about what happened. She was only starting to complain when Saul silenced her, gesturing outside their camp. Myr grumbled but went mute when she saw the templars on the road not 50 paces away, their armor shining in the dawn light. They hadn't seen them yet but had stopped for a reason unknown to her.

"You didn't need to fall out of your tree to warn me." Saul drew his bow, notching an arrow and raising it, aiming at one of the men.

"Wait!" Myr grabbed his arm, shaking her head, voice nearly imperceptible with anxiety. "They're no threat. We shouldn't need to kill them if they haven't even seen us."

Myr wasn't sure why she cared, considering the templars had renewed their manhunt of her. Saul lowered his bow but kept his eyes trained on the armored men, eyes twitching slightly with annoyance. A chill ran up Myr's spine as she realized Saul truly wanted to kill the men, despite how they hadn't seemed to notice the two.

"They wouldn't stop unless they thought they saw something. Most likely it was you sleeping in the treetops." Saul slowly pulled out one arrow for each templar, placing them on the grass near him within easy reach. His preparedness and practiced hand startled Myr. He'd done this before, many times. Did Saul even prepare like this before he saved her?

"But they aren't even looking this way!"

"Doesn't matter." Saul was notching an arrow again. Myr tensed, knowing that Saul would find a lethal point on the templars despite their armor. He drew the arrow back slowly, right elbow raised, arrow nearing his eye.

"Wait! Saul!" Myr, not knowing how else to stop Saul, tackled him, arrow flying vertically into the air. Both wrestled each other into a bush, Myr struggling to get away, not understanding why Saul was still grabbing at her, his hand clamping around her mouth.

"Shh! Stay still!" Myr froze, realizing the templars had started approaching, drawn by their crashing in the underbrush. Saul's right hand was still fastened on Myr's mouth, his left wrapped around her waist, keeping their heads low and bodies close. She would have felt awkward if they weren't in great peril. How would the templars react if they found a mage hiding in bushes?

"Aaron, are you sure you heard something?" A gruff voice, one Myr thought she recognized. It was commanding yet weary and slightly irritated. "First you say you saw a girl in a tree, and then you hear sounds?"

"The apprentice has gone mad. He's scared shitless by nothing." Snickering. Myr struggled to move herself so that she could see the templars through the leaves. Saul had somehow managed to maneuver them in an ingenious position, a large myriad of bushes covered by fallen tree leaves and a fallen tree's shadow covering most of them.

"I swear there was something here, Commander Goodson!" Myr could feel Saul breathing, chest rising and falling nearly imperceptibly. She felt no change in his heartbeat, no fear showing in him. Was he used to this sort of stealth? "I...there had to be!"

Myr realized that if the templars so much as walked a few steps forward they'd be within eyesight of their campfire. Hopefully this...Commander Goodson would not believe the younger templar.

"I say we leave this place well enough alone." Another voice, this one female. There were female templars? Myr had never seen one, despite living in the tower. Did they hide their gender? "I feel...odd here. Like I'm being watched."

No shit. Saul was tensing, his hand moving across Myr's shirt towards the dagger she kept strapped to her side. He slid it out of its sheathe silently and, his hands finally releasing Myr, bit down on the dagger, slowly inching over to a nearby tree. He intended to ambush the templars!

"No!" Myr mouthed. If she moved to stop Saul again, they'd be found. There was no avoiding it. Saul crouched, ready to pounce at the senior templar, just a few feet away.

"There's nothing here. We're wasting time." A templar leaned against a tree, sticking a finger under his helmet to scratch at some itch. "The heat's making this armor unbearable, let's just go."

"But I..."

"I see nothing. I don't blame you for being on edge, especially after what happened at the Circle Tower a few months back." Commander Goodson laid his hand on the nervous templar's shoulder reassuringly. "Denerim is only a few miles away. Once we're there we'll get a drink or two, how 'bout it?"

The younger templar nodded, slowly backing away from the group, slowly leaving the copse. Soon the commander followed. The two others left soon after, still chuckling somewhat at the apparent jumpiness of the apprentice templar.

Myr only let herself sigh once the templars were out of sight, slowly pulling herself from the branches and brambles, brushing the leaves and sticks from her hair. She had to admit she was relieved that Saul didn't kill anyone but she also knew the two of them were incredibly lucky.

Saul's arrows were still on the ground, their campsite still set up and the bush they hid in didn't provide an incredible amount of cover anyway. In short, either the templars were incredibly stupid, blind or simply looking in all the wrong places.

"They should have found us." Saul said, head shaking while gathering his arrows. "They were so caught up in the notion that there was nothing here that they didn't even bother checking around."

"We got lucky, I guess."

"Or unlucky. Those templars are also going to Denerim, possibly searching for you. Now we don't have a chance to kill them." Saul kicked the fire's ashes, snuffing any remaining flame.

"Why would you kill them? They've done nothing wrong!"

"Practicality. They were most likely looking for you, thus were a problem." Saul rubbed his temples, standing after finishing getting rid of any sign there was a camp in the copse. "Problems should be removed."

"You can't just kill them! What if they were searching for something entirely different?"

"Not likely." Myr couldn't believe what she was hearing from him. Her companion was actually advocating murder! How could he possibly think this way? "What else would they be searching for, considering the templars from a few days ago?"

"Why are you so violent? It always seems as if you want to choose the most excessive option!"

"If I didn't choose the excessive option in these situations you'd be dead right now." Myr paused. She knew Saul was right. If he wasn't interested in killing then Myr would have maggots crawling around her eye sockets as she lay dead in a ditch.

"Despite that...it just didn't feel right to kill everything that gets in your way!"

"What else would I do?"

"I..." Myr was at a loss for words. Saul was simply staring at her, eyes dark, betraying no emotion. He seemed out of place in his surroundings, a shadow amidst the beauty of the morning sun. Saul mystified her, as she knew next to nothing of him. "What happened to make you turn into this? Who are you really? What did you do in the year you claim you were away from society?"

Saul didn't respond, instead turning towards the road. The abruptness of it alerted Myr to the reality of her situation with him. He was just someone traveling with her, just a stranger. He didn't need to book any harassment from some nosy mage, one that should be grateful for being saved twice by him. Myr prided herself on being stubborn though, and she was determined to find out why Saul was so distant.

"Tell me, please."

"I refuse." He didn't even bother looking back to say it. Myr could feel the agitation rising within her, but she could do nothing about it. Saul wouldn't tell her, but something must have happened to him to turn him into this cold shell of a person.

"You're a noble." Saul hesitated when he heard Myr's words, turning his head slowly. "Your tender skin gives it away. It's been damaged somewhat because of the time you were hiding in the wilderness, but I know what noble skin feels like."

"How... would you know?" Saul turned to her fully, arms crossing across his chest. "You're just a mage, you know nothing of the real world. Your kind is hidden away in a tower, so how could you make assumptions on other people if you are surrounded by that which is by definition not normal?"  
"Many of the mages who came to the tower were once sons or daughters of nobility. They often had the softest, palest skin, much more so than the farmer's kids or city children." Myr stuck one hand on her hip, relieved now that she finally had the upper hand. "My kind is not so ignorant as you think. I know you're a noble. I just need to know what happened to turn you into...this."

"This?" Saul's eyes narrowed. "What do I come off as to you?"

"A depressed, somewhat cynical man who has a tendency for violence." Myr brushed a stray strand of snow-white hair from her face, still staring at Saul, who refused to look away. "One who's had something happen to him to change his life irreversibly so as to cause him to live in the wilds, uncaring for his appearance or for human interaction."

ooo

Saul wasn't sure what to say to her, how to react to her assumptions. Should he simply deny it all? Laugh? Be angry? Should he tell her the truth, even admitting his intention to inflict his vengeance upon the Howes? Should he kill her? Wait... kill her? Myr was right, Saul was becoming violent. Why? Why did she have to be right?

"I..." Saul lowered his gaze, staring instead at the ground between Myr's feet, not sure how to begin. "My full name is Saul Maximilian Cousland, second son of Teyrn Bryce Cousland of Highever."

Now it was Myr's turn to gawk. She simply stared, mouth hanging open, her slender elven frame motionless with surprise. Eventually, her hand raised to her head and she laughed, long and jolly, slight tears forming at the edges of her eyes.

"That really got me there. I actually believed you for a second." Myr chuckled, still occasionally shuddering, trying to withhold her laughter. "You can't...can't possibly be...a teyrn's son... right?"

"I am not lying." Myr's face fell to a neutral position, stunned with bewilderment. "I grew up in Highever Castle. My life didn't have any difficulties at all. I was happy, I suppose. I had someone I loved, a caring family and a carefree existence."

Myr walked closer to Saul, her eyes soft with compassion. He knew she wouldn't see any sort of feeling in his own eyes, his practiced steel gaze holding true. Emotion was a weakness, and portraying it would bring vulnerability. But despite this, Saul still wanted to tell her something, anything, as long as it would set his mind at ease. He knew he shouldn't talk, shouldn't fall victim to any desire besides the one he held above all: Revenge.

"What happened?" Myr's expression was too gentle, too comforting. Saul hadn't felt this vulnerable since Delilah abandoned him. He decided he had to leave Myr as soon as they got to Denerim. She was affecting him too much, hindering his objective.

Despite this, or perhaps because of this, he supposed there was no harm in telling her some of his story, leaving out his murder of Ser Lowan and his objective of killing the Howe's of course.

"My family was betrayed and murdered by those I trusted with my life, the family of the girl whom I loved." Saul struggled to keep his eyes trained on Myr, uneasiness crawling at him. "It all changed in one night, the night my brother left for the Korcari Wilds to join King Cailan at Ostagar. The first one I saw die was the elven lady I had lain with that night. She woke me up because my mabari was barking uncontrollably. Probably saved my life, I guess. I fought my way to my parent's bedroom but arrived too late. My mother lay murdered, killed in her sleep by a knife in the dark.

"I next found my nephew and my sister-in-law, both killed before I got to them. The...the monsters even killed a small boy. Oren...he didn't even have a chance at life. I managed to group together some surviving soldiers, but they had all died by the time I found a way to escape. I...even had to leave my heavily wounded father...to die. My dog was killed after I escaped, but his sacrifice helped me to get away. So many died, just so I could live on..."

"So you went into hiding to hide from the ones who murdered your family?" Myr's eyes were tearing up now. Saul felt a sadness he had pushed beneath him for the year since the murders of his family, pushed deep inside, hoping that it would never surface, that it would disappear along with the Howes once his job was done.

"Yeah. I made my way to 'The Spoiled Princess' inn first, but I only stayed a day or two. I had to keep moving to avoid the soldiers. I lost them after Lothering was destroyed. I...watched the town burn from a distance, the soldiers chasing me perishing amongst its flames. I could only assume Howe thought I died there as well. I've wandered Ferelden since, unable to force myself to stay in one place for too long."

Myr had nothing to say. It was expected, after all. Saul knew his story wasn't one that many would expect.

"We waste time here. We should move on to Denerim. It's a few hours away from here." Myr just nodded, dumbfounded. Neither of them spoke for hours yet.

ooo

Hands perfectly rotated as her hand extended, impacting the elven woman's face solidly, jaw weakening under the pressure of the blow. The second punch struck her stomach, pushing her back a few inches, bent double from the pain. The peasant sunk to her knees, her young daughter trembling while looking on from across the room, held back by one of her soldiers.

"Quit your lies, tramp! You had dealings with Vilhm!" Rayne's fists flew again, striking the elf on the other side of her face. She was crying, nose bleeding and body shaking.

"Mamae!" The child freed herself, running forward. A soldier's hand grabbed her, holding her back while she screamed and cried, hands outstretched, tears running down her face.

"Shut that little bitch up!" Rayne's rage was rising. The wench she was slapping wouldn't cooperate, her kid was causing an annoying uproar. Too much noise, too little going her way. Rayne drew Fang, pressuring it against the young girl's neck, who promptly shut up. "Tell me what you know of Vilhm Madon or this girl dies."

And then it was silent, loud agitation replaced with quiet fear, yet Rayne felt no more at ease. How far had she fallen, even threatening to take the life of a child? Fang was still rubbing the girl's jugular, threatening to tear and end her short life.

"Please! Please! I'll tell you anything..." And now the filthy peasant talks. Rayne smirked. Despicable as it was, she knew harsh actions got the job done. "Just don't hurt my baby..."

"Tell me everything you know about Vilhm. Everything! If I even suspect you lying, this child's blood will paint the floor, as will your own!" The elf winced. The child stayed quiet. The soldiers simply stared at the spectacle.

"He...he hides his face, and I think...I think he's a mage." The woman was near fainting from fear. "Whenever he visited the shop...he never bought anything. He just waited for people. My boss told me not to bother him, as he was...was a very important person. Please, that's all I know!"

"Where is he now!"

"I don't know! He just stopped coming a few weeks back! I don't know why! Please..." Rayne could feel her disgust rising, bile tingling the back of her throat. Why did these pathetic fools cower and beg when in these situations? Suddenly she wanted to kill the child just to show the woman how powerless she was.

Fang flicked back onto her wrist, sheathed within a blink. Rayne stared at the woman for a short while, knowing what must be done. She gestured to one of her soldiers, pointing at the mother. The soldier nodded slowly, sadness evident on his face. Rayne made a mental note to replace him. She could afford no weakness in her men.

"No...No!" The woman struggled briefly, the soldier hesitating just for a second before plunging his sword into her stomach, then back out.

"Mamae!" The girl broke from the man gripping her, running to her mother who was bleeding to death on the floor. "Mamae...why?"

Rayne almost felt tears in her eyes as she watched the bloody hand of the mother stroke the young girl's head, one last comfort before she passed on. In moments the hand hung loose, dead. The daughter just stared, her young mind struggling to wrap the concept of her mother's death around it.

Then the child looked at Rayne and she shuddered at the weight of the gaze. It was empty, the face an adult would make, far removed of the joviality that children are supposed to have. The girl would forever be scarred and Rayne knew it was her fault. The thought chilled her but she pushed it aside.

She could nothing except leave, the child's blank face haunting her long after she had returned to the palace to rest for the night. The girl would grow up emotionally twisted, unable to function normally, all because of her. Rayne knew there was no room for regret now, yet it was still there. It clawed at her, and hours passed before she managed to sleep.

ooo

"What do you mean Raelnor's dead!" Ryal stood, turning over his table, ale and cups sent flying, splashing upon both his comrades-in-arms and other patrons. "Why didn't I hear about this earlier!"

"Look Ryal, calm down." Eright put his hands up defensively, already standing. Ryal knew Eright was just delivering news. There was no reason to be angered at him. But that didn't answer his question.

"Sorry Eright, it's no fault of your own." Ryal sat again, somewhat shamefaced but still shocked. Raelnor was a good friend, one of the best comrades he'd ever worked with. To find out he died...and in such a casual manner... "Then... Taoran is in charge of the Irregulars?"

"Indeed. He wanted to talk to you as soon as possible, considering you were Raelnor's closest friend and adviser." Ryal buried his head in his hands, running them through his beard and hair. "He wants you to know that your judgment will still be valued, just as in the past."

"That's good to know but..." Ryal stared up at his subordinate, still in shock from the news. "You say he died months ago, yet I don't find out until now? If I am truly considered Raelnor's closest friend, why was I not informed sooner?"

"His remains were only found this morning. He had disappeared along with a contingent of his guards some time ago. Taoran kept the information secret to keep stability in the Irregulars. You understand, right?"

Yes, it was all logical. But what use was logic in this situation? Raelnor... the greatest man Ryal had ever known, the one true friend he had left in Ferelden, a man whom he had fought and killed and drank with for decades now fed the crows. No. He had fed the crows, weeks before. Now he was likely just bones covered in scraps of rotten flesh. There wouldn't even be a face left when Ryal went to pay his respects.

"How did he die?"

"Killed in a fight with a mage and some others by the looks of things. He fought well, trust me. The man undoubtedly didn't go down without taking scores of his foes down with him. There will be songs sung of him, for certain."

"Great man. At the very least he died in battle." Ryal sat his table back down, the tavern slowly getting back to normal after Ryal's outburst. "It's a pity I wasn't there with him. Maybe he would have... survived."

"Don't blame yourself." Eright laid his hand on Ryal's shoulder reassuringly. "There was nothing any of us could do. It's an unexpected surprise and not a welcome one. The Irregulars are all the lesser without him."

"A toast to Raelnor, then." Ryal raised his mug, followed by the other Irregulars at the table, Eright included. "May the Irregulars live on in honorable memory of the greatest man to ever lead them. Maker guide his soul."

"Aye!" The shout rang true, and the men settled down to speak of the man they would drink with no longer. Sadness enveloped Ryal, but he still had many nostalgic memories to speak of. He drank and talked with his comrades, his friends, for hours to come, celebrating the memory of one greater than them all.


	4. Forgiveness, A Bit Too Late

**Chapter 3: Forgiveness, A Bit Too Late**

Adrian kissed her when she returned from a day of terrifying and killing peasants, as usual. And like always, the kiss didn't feel right. Rayne still had worries of why Adrian was giving these orders and why he was so obsessively looking for this Vilhm character. She loved Adrian, so she could barely stomach doubting him, but his orders still felt wrong.

"You seem down, Rayne." Adrian's smile didn't seem to have the luster or youthfulness it used to. He always used to seem so cheerful, making wise cracks in the darkest of situations. Was it simply the pressures of being Chancellor, effectively ruling the country while the King and Queen were visiting Orlais to meet with Empress Celene I? "Tell me, did something happen?"

Rayne wanted to shout at him. She wanted to yell that he was giving orders that she could hardly stand. She wanted to ask why Vilhm was so important as to tear Denerim in two to get to him, but she couldn't. The words stuck in her throat, her gaze wavering. She wanted to talk about how she was slowly being killed by these brutal orders, her soldiers even starting to place doubt in their leadership.

But Rayne knew she was too prideful. She had thought once before that she could tell Adrian anything, but that had since changed. He was a different person now, though she didn't wish to believe it. She could see the mars on his face, the deep bags forming beneath his eyes, the redness clawing at the corners of his eyes, the scratchy beard he didn't seem to remember to shave. It was the effects of obsession, Rayne knew. He wanted to find Vilhm, above all other things he could possibly do in the world. The question was: why?

"It's nothing." Lies. Rayne turned her eyes away, withdrawing from his hold. She couldn't do it. Despite everything she had gone through, she was still weak. She couldn't even question the one she loved, even when she knew she had to. "Just tired is all."

"Well, I'm afraid I have more information." Rayne had to stop herself from wincing. So soon? Did Adrian run around the city killing people, forcing answers from their corpses? How did he gather this intelligence that which, without fail, causes her to kill unnecessarily?

"Anything for you, my love." Such sickening lies, but Rayne kept her composure. It felt so wrong standing here. She'd done horrible things for this man and she knew she'd keep doing them as long as Vilhm lived. "I live for you."

She noticed Adrian smile at that. That wasn't like him. Adrian was never one to like being an unquestionable authority figure, much preferring decisions made by many, rather than few.

"It seems Vilhm has decided it's time to change the game around. He's disappeared completely. None of his contacts have seen hide nor hair of him in weeks, as you have undoubtedly found out. I know he has not left the city, but due to the difficulty involved in hunting him down, I've enlisted some help." Adrian gestured behind him. Rayne turned, only to jump at the sight of the familiar elf. One who tried to kill them both, so long ago.

"You!" Rayne snarled at Zevran, who simply raised his hands, smiling and shaking his head. Exasperated, Rayne found herself unsure of how to act. First the brutal orders and now the hiring of a backstabbing assassin? "Why would you hire this traitor, Adrian?"

"Traitor?" Zevran turned around, gazing behind him for a second before locking eyes with Rayne again. "I am simply an opportunist and a realist, as is your Chancellor. He needed help and I was in town. Unpleasant past encounters shouldn't matter, especially when we can both benefit so greatly from these dealings."

"Zevran is to accompany you now, Rayne, but he will also be doing some solo searching of his own. He's practiced these sorts of things. Vilhm can be caught much faster with his help. He's formerly an Antivan Crow, as you know. "

"Not formerly, I daresay." Zevran was smiling now, that sly, seductive grin that always made Rayne's skin crawl. "Through the use of some clever persuasion and with the help of my dagger, I am now the leader of the Antivan Crows, though my position is tenuous at best. I have someone leading in place while I'm screwing around in Ferelden, if you know what I mean."

Rayne gawked, still overwhelmed by these events. Zevran tried to kill her and Adrian, and he nearly succeeded! But if Adrian was willing to trust him again... Rayne shook her head, knowing she was too dependent on Adrian's decisions.

"Fine." Rayne brushed Zevran's shoulder as she left the Grand Hall. The elven assassin followed shortly after. She could feel his lecherous stares, his probing eyes, tracing her body as they did every female the assassin encountered. She decided that Vilhm Madon had to die, if only so that Adrian would return to normal, that her life would begin to make sense again. She would do whatever it took.

ooo

"It's odd how the gates stay open, despite all the nasty rumors going around about the chancellor." Myr smirked, noticeable just out of the corner of Saul's eye. It was the first thing she had said to him in the last couple of hours. "The city looks trashed, though."

Indeed it did. As the two travelers entered Denerim they were bombarded with images of destruction. The attack on Denerim had not left the city unscathed and many, if not most, of the buildings were damaged in some way. Some were completely collapsed, leaving people to sleep out in the streets.

"And now the shems can taste what it's like every day for the Alienage Elves. No continuous sources of food, income or shelter." Myr almost seemed pleased, though Saul just thought it was a trick of the light.

Saul didn't reply, still caught up in the sight of the trashed city. It had been over two months since the attack and though obvious reconstruction effort was underway it would be a very long time before Denerim was completely rebuilt. Humans, not elves, lined the streets unhealthy and unfed. They didn't all seem miserable. Saul imagined that the glowing victory over the darkspawn had not yet faded, and some were still convinced that life would get better.

What fools.

"Well, I brought you to Denerim." Saul halted when the two got to a crossroads, branching out to various parts of the city. There were a few corner stores, some still intact and others rebuilt, wares and signs displayed proudly, as if in testament to the fact that the owners were in much better circumstances than those outside, sleeping in the gutters. People meandered about, mostly happy, yet there seemed to be an undercurrent of discomfort. Despite everything, these people weren't exactly in perfect shape, after all. Saul continued. "I believe it is time we went our separate ways. I'm sure your life has demands outside of me, and I must press on with existing as well."

Saul thought he caught a panicked look crossing Myr's eyes, but it was gone quickly enough for him to wonder if that too was a trick of the light. Her expressions often seemed unreadable, and this was no exception.

"Are you sure?" Myr's head was cocked, her body turned completely towards Saul. He noticed just how closely the two were standing together, and indeed they had walked the entire distance to Denerim from their previous encampment like this. The average passerby would probably make the incorrect assumption that they were close companions rather than opportunistic strangers using each other to make a long journey easier to bear. Myr's next words were much lower, ensuring only Saul could hear. "I mean, I don't want to bother you more...but those templars are still going to be an issue with me. I don't have any life demands, either. I've just been a meandering wanderer since I escaped the Circle Tower. I have no pressing responsibilities whatsoever."

Saul was taken aback by this. He had hoped to get rid of Myr, as she only served as a distraction to his greater purpose. Despite this, part of him actually wanted her to stay. She was good conversation and a companion was not necessarily a bad thing, especially when they could cook as well as she could. But if she kept traveling with him, she'd find out about his vendetta against the Howe's eventually. Could he allow that?

"I can't. My journey is far from over."

"Please?" Myr grabbed his left hand with both of hers, staring up into his eyes. Damn it. Now he really wanted her along. "You already know I can make myself useful."

She was pleading? Why did she care so much? Could a woman of her age, despite being an apostate, possess such an empty life as to want to journey with a near-stranger who has done nothing but murder since coming into her presence?

"Believe me, I want you to. However, my path is a long and dark one. Do not take this lightly. If I had a happier mission, I would gladly take you along, but situation demands that I do this alone." Saul gently pried himself from Myr's grip, trying not to look into her eyes. He had only known her for a week, but her constant presence had grown on him. He actually felt sad as he walked away, an emotion he had long since thought dead.

So he left her there, amidst the bustle of a busy intersection, a lone albino elf in a sea of people. Pained expression splayed across her pretty face as he looked back at her once. Only once. And then she disappeared in the crowd. Saul knew it would be a long time before he forgot her.

ooo

"Ah! Finally you decide to show up, Captain Ryal!" Taoran turned swiftly as the older captain walked into the room. The leader of the Irregulars looked none the worse for wear, despite how he undoubtedly had only recently been informed of his father's death. Not a good sign, but Ryal simply hoped he was misreading the situation. "I hope your night of drinking and revelry will not impede your duties as an Irregular, yes?"

"Of course not." Ryal saluted smartly. He saw no reason to admit to having something of a hangover. Taoran was a man who demanded excellence, and being impaired in any form would cause him great consternation. "I'm always ready for you sir, just as I was with your father."

"Good." Taoran turned back to the fire, signaling his lesser guardsmen to leave the two men alone. As soon as they had vacated the chamber, Taoran continued speaking. "Ryal, there are changes coming to Denerim, changes that could be very profitable for this organization. The new chancellor has been searching for something fervently and I want to know what. You're going to be in charge of this investigation."

Ryal scowled. Taoran's perception of an investigation was hardly tasteful. Likely he'd have to threaten a few lowlifes, scare a few women and ultimately make an ass of himself, blundering about Denerim hoping to find scraps of information.

"I am soldier, not a spy. Don't you have pickpockets or street ears for this sort of thing?"

"We need a soldier for this job, not a street ear. I know what you are capable of Ryal, you've done it multiple times for my father."

"Who will go with me?" What Taoran undoubtedly wanted was not something Ryal relished, but he'd do his job as an Irregular. Perhaps it was even necessary. Taoran was a highly intelligent young man, and if anyone knew how to operate the Irregulars, it was he.

"Whoever you think is best suited for the job. You'll need a lot of men."

"Very well, commander. Tell me my orders."

ooo

The Gnawed Noble Tavern wasn't quite what Saul expected. For one, it was fully reconstructed, possibly due in part to its high income and rich customers. Unfortunately, it was probably the only working tavern in Denerim, and that didn't bode well for a man trying to stay hidden.

The atmosphere was hectic, people crowded at the tables, conversing, laughing, joking and drinking. The feel of recovery was great here, as most of the patrons likely were upper class citizens who would rather die than allow themselves to sleep on the ground. Saul smirked when he remembered how he used to be that way.

Saul noticed that amidst the sea of patrons, there was one table not filled, holding only a single man, head covered in a cloak, sipping away at a pint of ale. Saul meandered over, laying a hand softly on the table as he approached. The man looked up, yet Saul could still only see a slight amount of his face under the hood.

"Mind if I join you, friend?" Saul smiled as best as he could. Apparently his friendliness was convincing, as the man nodded, gesturing across from him. "Thank you."

"What brings you to this Tavern, traveler?" Saul could only see the man's mouth, so far down was his hood. Was there a particular reason why he'd want to hide his face like that? "Aside from there being no other taverns in Denerim, of course."

"There is business I have to take care of. I won't be here long before I turn north to Amaranthine." Saul spoke honestly. He had the strangest feeling that this man could be trusted. He could see wrinkles surrounding the hooded man's face, undoubtedly meaning he was an older, possibly wiser, patron.

"Amaranthine, eh? I'd heard many dark things about that corner of Ferelden." The man titled his head upwards slightly, just enough for Saul to catch a glimpse of his nose. "The new Warden-Commander was sent there to solve some dire problems, as the word on the street says."

"You would know of the word on the street?" Maybe Saul had just found an informant.

"I know of many things, young man. Not many important events escape my notice." The man lowered his voice. "Not many small events escape either."

Saul lowed his voice as well, asking "Then would you know if you could answer a few questions, my friend? I find myself in need of certain information."

The man leaned forward slightly, inviting Saul to join him, so as to not alert other patrons of their conversation.

"If you're willing to pay, I may be willing to supply." Saul could see a smile widen on the older man's face. "Five sovereigns and my tongue will become quite loose indeed."

Saul fished in his pockets, to the few coins he had in his possession. Five sovereigns would leave him only barely enough for a room in The Gnawed Noble Tavern.

"If your information is good enough, then these sovereigns will leave my pocket." Saul knew better than to allow a man to ask for payment first, then give information. It could just be worthless drivel, after all. The man just smiled wider.

"I like you. You've got some strength, not like most bottom feeders in this shit-hole. Very well." The man adjusted his hood, pulling it down further. "I'll answer one of your questions free of charge, any more will need payment."

A fair enough deal. Saul fished out five sovereigns, keeping them in his palm while he thought of a question. His best bet was to ask about the exact location of the Howes, yet he didn't want to seem suspicious. Still, if this man was selling information, he likely was not working with the authorities.

"I seek the locations of the last of Rendon Howe's bloodline. Every single one that remains alive." Saul nervously fingered the sovereigns. If this man had the information he was looking for, then...

"Ah!" The hooded man smiled, nodding his head. "Saul Cousland, of course. Such a pleasure to meet such an esteemed noble such as yourself!" Saul wasn't sure how to react. The man had already found him out? Just from that request? The man continued.

"You seek vengeance for the deaths of your family, don't you?" Saul nervously glanced about the tavern, yet nobody was paying any attention to his conversation, even those sitting at tables just adjacent to them. "Aye. I know the location of the last of the Howes. However, I know how important this information is to you. My price has changed. 10 sovereigns."

Saul grabbed the man by his throat, drawing him close threateningly. He wasn't about to be cheated. No, he'd get this information, regardless of cost. The man's hood fell back, revealing most of his face. He was simply an older man, possibly in his 50's. The only surprising thing was his expression. He was just smiling, completely unafraid of Saul, despite his situation.

"Or maybe you should reconsider that stance. If you know what I am after, then you know I am not afraid of cleaning up liabilities." Saul narrowed his eyes. "Like you."

"Very well." The man raised his arms, appearing submissive. Somehow Saul got the feeling the man was only choosing to submit, but was still uncaring about his situation. "But you should be careful about who you threaten in the future. Not everyone is as friendly as I, especially in these troubled times. Delilah is in Amaranthine, adjusting to peasant life with her new husband. From what I hear, she has a child on the way. Nathaniel was just recently captured for breaking into Vigil's Keep, his former home. I know not the circumstances, but I hear he may be executed, though the Warden-Commander has yet to decide upon his fate."

Saul let go, allowing the man to slump back into his seat. Not desiring to remain in the uncomfortable presence of a man not shaken by him, Saul swiftly stood, making a straight line to the tavern keeper. Perhaps he could get his thoughts straight once he was alone.

Yes. Alone. Like he should be. Yet Saul wished he had someone to talk to. He had his information, so he should be happy. Why did he still feel dissatisfied? No matter, it would undoubtedly go away once his vengeance was satiated.

Right?

ooo

Rayne sighed, scanning the alleyway she and her group of soldiers had occupied. The address she was ordered to search was somewhere around here, but she wasn't entirely sure where it was. The spot where the door should have been was just wall, no sign of entrance.

"Perhaps it was destroyed in the battle and rebuilt this way?" One of her soldiers observed, examining the wall for hints of a secret door. Rayne just gave him an icy stare. This expedition was useless, and now she had to report a failure back to Adrian. She knew he wouldn't take that well.

"Perhaps it is best that we ask a few people around the area about this." Zevran spoke, running his hand along the wall. "It doesn't seem like this wall is a secret passage or like its been rebuilt. How odd..."

Rayne shrugged, exasperation evident on her face. Adrian would probably get furious for her lack of results. What was she going to do now? It was almost as if...

He thoughts were interrupted by a shriek and a loud thump behind her. Turning, Rayne found one of her men lying on the ground, arrow protruding from his neck. An attack? Rayne's first instinct was to whip her sword around at Zevran, but he had already started running forward, sword drawn, pointed towards where the attack came from.

If he was fighting with her, then this attack was not a betrayal. Pity. She didn't get to kill the elven assassin, then. A quick look behind her showed Rayne she was surrounded on both sides, enemies pouring from both sides of the alley, each outfitted in fine arms and weapons.

Rayne darted in the opposite direction of Zevran, shouting for her soldiers to stay alert to the threats on both sides. The alleyway was only about eight feet wide, not much room to fight in. She'd have to make do.

Barely dodging an arrow, Rayne barreled into her first enemy, a swift side-strike with Fang throwing his sword arm wide, the follow-up with Blightblood tearing into his armor, corrosive poison from the blade tearing through, precious lifeblood splattering across the stone walls and dirt ground. A mortal wound.

She could hear a couple of soldiers behind her backing her up. Her men were trained and Rayne didn't even need to turn to know they had formed two defensive lines in hopes of repelling the attack.

The second soldier she came across wielded a great sword, but swung it clumsily, almost as if he had just started fighting. Blightblood took off his left hand, Fang left a fatal scarlet line across his neck. Two more enemies popped up where he had fallen, however. No chance to rest, only to fight, hoping a stray arrow wouldn't find her heart.

The soldier on the right lunged forward with a shortsword, more controlled than the man who came before. Rayne parried with Blightblood, just barely managing to hold off the second attack from the soldier on the left with Fang.

But who were these men? Some fought like they were highly trained, others seemed like they had just been picked up from some farmhold, uncertain how to tell the pointy end of a sword from the handle. The battle was quickly becoming stressful, Rayne knew. She knew it would only be a matter of time before she could no longer parry so efficiently. She'd engaged multiple foes before, but the close quarters limited her swing distance. Eight feet was too short. If only she could get to open ground...

That was unlikely. Rayne could see more soldiers pouring into the end of the alleyway. Undoubtedly it was the same on the other end, where Zevran was leading the counterattack. It was obvious they outnumbered Rayne and her soldiers. This didn't look like a battle she could win. How unfortunate she was going to die, devoid of answers, in a seedy back alley somewhere in the slums of Denerim.

The soldier on the right fell to a beheading from Blightblood, the one on the left got a slight wrist from Fang. He fell backwards, replaced by yet more soldiers. They were overwhelming her and her soldiers were dying left and right. She only brought thirteen men with her, not counting Zevran and herself, and she could see a score of men just in front of her. This was definitely a tight situation.

"Right, you slobs! Outta my way! If you can't take care of a wee elf, then back away!" The soldiers Rayne was fighting glanced behind themselves quickly before moving away defensively, relocating themselves to the side while a large human with a great sword took their places. He smiled when he saw Rayne, a sign that the temporary ceasefire his appearance had caused would end all too soon. "You're a pretty one for a Captain of the Guard. You might not be so dainty after I'm through with you, though."

The man moved fast, despite his bulk and the size of his weapon. The sounds of combat still sung behind her, but Rayne could hear her men yelp as they fell. Soon she'd be surrounded, and this battle would end too soon.

Whoever this large man was, he was definitely the strongest she had faced yet. He moved fast, efficiently, wasting no time in every strike, holding Rayne back despite how she was smaller and had two weapona. It increasingly became apparent that Rayne had met her match, and that was not a good thing.

Rayne found herself losing ground, pushed back by the ferocious and unending swings of the burly human. He paused eventually, allowing his soldiers to return to their positions in front, a smile on his face as he stared at Rayne, still backing away. Rayne nearly jumped, startled when her back touched another, initially surprised by who it was. Zevran.

"Fancy seeing you again, beauty." Rayne didn't so much as look behind her, but she knew he was smiling. And wounded. It didn't take a genius to figure out that they were the only soldiers remaining. "Isn't it weird how we're going to die together?"

"Might as well take as many with us as possible." Rayne kept her eyes trained on the large human, who had been joined in his attack of her by other soldiers."Hey! I thought you said you'd take care of me alone, shit-head!"

No reaction. The man just stared, a faint smile on his face.

"Yes, yes. Agitate our enemies. That'll make them much more likely to spare us." Rayne felt Zevran lunge, and a shriek followed. Another enemy fatality. But what did it matter?

Rayne and Zevran rotated, knowing they had to keep moving no matter what. To stand still would be to die. Neither wanted that to happen.

"Why are you still here?" Rayne shouted above the din at Zevran, tearing the arm off another of her assailants. "You're a traitor yet you fight with me!"

"Do you see any chance of me escaping?" A good point. Zevran didn't have a choice in fighting. "If you do, please let me know." Zevran paused, another shriek soon following. Rayne struggled to hold off two attackers and the large human, who had resumed his assault against her. "I had to see your pretty face again, Rayne. How could I forget such vengeful beauty, especially since I have not yet bedded you?"

"I wouldn't sleep with you if it killed me!" Slash. One of her attackers fell, replaced by two more. She had yet to get a strike in at the great sword-wielding human.

"Well, it just might! Not like we'd have a chance to test that theory-" A pause, a grunt from Zevran. What happened? "at all!"

"Are you okay?" She needed Zevran alive if there was any chance of surviving. There likely wasn't. Even more enemies poured into the Alleyway, each one eager for a fight. No. There wasn't a chance, but Rayne didn't want to admit it.

"Ah! So...so you do care!" More movement from Zevran, more shrieks. He was good, but they were both faltering. This wouldn't last much longer. "I knew...you did."

Rayne was breathing in gasps now, her sword arm feeling heavy with fatigue. She struck out at an enemy, but she had lunged too far forward. A sword bit into her side, tearing through her chainmail. A deep cut, but she didn't know if it was fatal.

"And now it is my turn to ask the same thing!" Zevran's voice seemed pained. Rayne could feel him turn slightly, to check on her. He shouldn't have.

Rayne turned as well, and for a second the two could see each other out of the corner of their eyes, each understanding the desperation of the situation and for a moment, Rayne felt like forgiving Zevran. She could see his face, panting, bloody, yet he still held a smile despite everything. She could see enough of him to watch the enemy sword plunge into Zevran's back, his face contorting in pain.

"Zevran!" Rayne turned fully. Another mistake. She felt a blade enter her leg first, then another from the front, digging into her stomach. Rayne stood for a second before falling, her leg giving way under the pain. She didn't even feel the ground.

ooo

Myr thought she felt something odd while she sat against a wall, examining the Market District. She was resting there as she had nothing else to do with her time, but panic from the strange, foreign feeling drove her to her feet, anxiously searching the crowd in front of her, struggling to find the reason for her panic.

She wasn't sure why, but she had an odd feeling, the same one she felt before she fled the Circle Tower the last time. Something was happening, something far from her control. Her first thought was to leave Denerim, but she knew she had to stay.

Myr took off running, bumping people out of the way. Fear clawed at her, though she wasn't sure why. It was instinct she knew, and that had yet to fail her.

She needed answers, and she had a feeling she knew who to go to in order to find them.


	5. False Pretenses

**Chapter 4: False Pretenses**

_"Glorious!" The blade of King Cailan bit into yet another darkspawn, tainted blood spilling over the dirt, yet another corpse littering the ground of Ostagar. "This is a battle that shall be sung for eons, I know it!"_

_ Adrian smiled, knowing his king was protected from harm by his spells. Yes, this was a mighty battle indeed. The darkspawn horde had slain naught a man from the King's army. The light of the Tower of Ishal shone fierce and proud, the flares of its hearth resounding in tune to the heartbeats of all the mighty warriors combating the darkspawn fiends._

_ "The battle goes well, my liege!" Duncan called out in a break between darkspawn. "They stand no chance against our might, and once Loghain's forces arrive they shall fall in one swoop!"_

_ As if on cue, the horns of the Teyrn rang out, ablaze with passion and glory. Adrian could see Loghain himself leading the army, cutting swathes through the horde. If the beasts possessed intelligence, they would have fled. They did not, so they died._

_ Adrian propelled another ice spell, freezing the arms and legs of a darkspawn, allowing it to be swiftly slain by Alistair on the front lines. It was easy, this fighting. Being a Grey Warden was exactly as the tales had described! Bloody fun!_

_ Laughing, the mage launched spell after spell, not growing tired despite all the mana he was consuming. There was no rest being a Grey Warden, not until all the fiends lay dead! A heap of darkspawn grew at his feet, as they did at the feet of every soldier._

_ Then the men started singing, singing a tale of fighting and power, one of truth and how good always conquered evil! Adrian lifted his head, mouth wide, singing along with the common soldiers, the words flowing from his lips despite not knowing the lyrics. On either side of Alistair, Ser Jory and Daveth sang too as they fought. All the Wardens took up the chant, their rebellious spirit damning the darkspawn as they deserved._

_ Glorious indeed!_

_ "There it is! The Archdemon!" The call was not one of fear, but rather of illumination. The men turned, still parrying the pitiable strikes from the darkspawn, facing the Archdemon as it flew into the battlefield._

_ "Now! Grey Wardens! To me!" Duncan charged forth, swords pointed at the Archdemon, who had landed just ahead. The archers fired their arrows, the mabari clawed, the soldiers slashed. The beast could hardly fight, so pressed as it was. Then came the Grey Wardens, led by Duncan, attacking from all sides._

_ Alistair took off a finger, Ser Jory a toe. Daveth's arrows found its eyes, while Duncan's blades tore deep gashes into its hide. This was a mighty beast, but even this Old God could not stand up to their combined might! Grey Wardens climbed onto its back, swords slashing downward into its skin. Adrian fired spells at its face, blinding, burning, freezing and electrifying it._

_ "For the Grey Wardens!" King Cailan charged forth, sword swinging. Adrian held his breath as his mighty blade cleaved through the Archdemon's head, severing it from the body. The Archdemon flopped over, Grey Wardens easily avoiding being crushed by its bulk as it writhed and died._

_ "VICTORY!" Duncan raised his blades, as did all the soldiers and Grey Wardens. Cheers abound, Loghain and his men on the flank of the horde shouted with glee as well. The fell beasts, the darkspawn, could not even flee, quickly diced to pieces as they struggled to run away._

_ Adrian trotted over the corpse of the Archdemon, his head held high with honor, knowing his order had done a great thing. The Archdemon was slain, the Blight ended before it even began. Pride swelled within him at this, his face all smiles. Walking up to Duncan, Adrian beamed as the older, battle-worn man turned. A broad smile adorned his face, his happiness evident at the easy win._

_ "Well done, recruit. I knew your worth the moment I saw you at the Circle Tower. You have assisted with the mightiest and most triumphant battle of all of time! Never has there been such a resounding defeat of the darkspawn." Duncan lay a hand on Adrian's shoulder, his face filled with fatherly pride. "And now, we have pea-"_

_ His words caught, his mouth hanging open for some inexplicable reason. Adrian felt a vague wetness on his stomach, though he did not look at it. Why was Duncan acting weird?"_

_ "Commander Duncan?" It was only then that Adrian glanced at Duncan's chest, to see the cruel tip of a scimitar protruding from the man's ribs. Duncan let out a gasp of air before collapsing. Dead. "What...?"_

_ Adrian saw the shadow move from behind Duncan, swiftly slashing a soldier to pieces, before moving on to others._

_ "Alistair!" Adrian shouted. Too late. The shadow beheaded him with ease, the blonde Warden's face still holding a shock expression as it decorated the ground. Ser Jory managed to raise his sword slightly, but the scimitar danced around it, slashing twice. One took off an arm, the other tore him in two._

_ Adrian backed away, the shadow darted from man to man, tearing them to pieces with ease. Shocked, the mage couldn't even speak or move. He was paralyzed with confusion, with fear._

_ "Adrian..." He looked down to see Daveth clawing at his leg, body eviscerated and bleeding out across his clothes. The mage jumped back, kicking the rogue's face in the process. "Why did you do this...to us...?"_

_ "What are you talking about!" Adrian looked out, seeing a line tear through Loghain's forces, then spreading, each man falling. Loghain himself lay beheaded at the front._

_ Adrian screamed, his eyes darting to the shadow, which had finally stopped, satisfied now that every man on the battlefield was dead, aside from Adrian. It was just a few feet ahead of him, forming slowly into the image of a person. A young girl, hardly 12, carrying the scimitar. She was grinning ear to ear, her face matted with blood. She carried the scimitar expertly, despite how it was nearly half her size._

_ "Who are you!" Adrian readied his staff, pointing it at the girl who was approaching him. He mentally prepared spells, tactics forming in his head of how he could possibly fell such a creature. She may take the form of a child, but it was likely a trick, a ploy to let down his guard._

_ "Don't you recognize your own daughter?" Adrian saw the details of her face as she drew near. She rang of familiarity... features of a woman he thought never to see again. Her eyes drew his gaze next. One was red, the other... yellow. Her hair was matted with blood, but he could see its midnight pitch. The color of night. The color of nothingness._

_ "No..." Adrian fell backwards, staff dropping to his side, awkwardly crawling backwards as the girl slowly meandered towards him. "No... It can't be..."_

_ "Oh, but I am." The girl was still smiling, but Adrian could see the intention behind it. This was a monster, a creature of dark origin. Truly, she was his daughter, but how...?_

_ Memories bombarded him as he still struggled backwards. He saw Morrigan on top of him, mouth open in pleasure. He saw his sword enter the Archdemon's head. He saw Morrigan's smile as she turned away, her plan complete. This is what their union formed...?_

_ "No! I reject you, monster!" The girl paused, the smile disappearing. Anger replaced it, a deep seated odium he had often seen in her mother._

_ "What right do you have to call me a monster, Abomination!" The girl gestured to the battlefield, scowl forming on her lips. "Even with this destruction, I have not even come close to killing as many as you!"_

_ Adrian had no words as the girl approached again, sword raised. She meant to kill him, and he knew it._

_ "No... No, please!" The scimitar rose above his head. Death was upon him._

_ "Goodbye, Father!"_

_ Adrian screamed as the sword descended. A sharp pain in his skull, then all was black, replaced by nothingness._

_ Replaced with death._

ooo

"That'll be two sovereigns for the saber, good sir." Gorim's hand was extended, eagerly awaiting Saul's coin. Merchants...they were all the same. He deposited the money, nodding stiffly as he took the blade.

Saul examined it as he backed away from the dwarf. It was a fine blade, shaped from high quality White Steel. Admittedly, the style was odd, not being of dwarven make. Gorim said many sailors used blades like it and that they had arrived in Ferelden from across the sea.

He slowly sauntered off back to the Gnawed Noble Tavern. Saul planned on staying in Denerim until the next morning, when he would head to Amaranthine to finish his job.

Soon his vengeance would be satiated.

Distracted by these thoughts, Saul found himself at the bridge to the Elven Alienage. Didn't Myr mention she was raised in an Alienage, despite not remembering her childhood? Somehow drawn to the place, he crossed the bridge, ignoring the warning posted about muggings and murders in the area.

It was almost like crossing into a new world. The Alienage was nearly completely repaired, unlike the rest of Denerim. Undoubtedly the elves must have put all their effort on themselves, rather than help the rest of the city. Could that be called selfishness or righteousness?

He continued wandering, generally staying away from the elves. However, a question kept nagging at the back of his mind. Finally unable to contain it, Saul walked up to a fiery-headed elf woman and tapped her on the shoulder.

"Oh, didn't see..." The woman caught herself as soon as she saw Saul was human. Understandable. It wasn't like she had humans coming up to her every day, tapping her on the shoulder. "What do you want, shem?"

"I have a question, lady." Saul tried to keep his annoyance out of his voice. How dare this woman act so rudely towards him! He'd done nothing wrong except be human! "Have you ever met an...albino elf?"

The redhead's eyes widened for a second, but her expression quickly returned to normal. Her reaction told the whole story. Now, was it as Saul suspected, or...

"There was one, a long time ago. A young girl by the name of Miranda." The elf narrowed her eyes. "Why? She was carted off to the circle tower by your oppressive chantry long ago."

An albino elf that was also sent to the circle tower. It's also possible Myr was derived from Miranda. Could it be the same person?

"Can you tell me about her?" The elf seemed confused, reluctant to speak. Had something happened?

"There's nothing I can say to an outsider like you." The elf looked away, a sad look in her eyes. "Too many tragic things happen to our people. She is no exception. Now, I suggest you leave before some of us grow envious of your fancy equipment."

Taking the hint, Saul bowed, backing away. He wasn't sure of why he had suddenly became curious of Myr's past, but he chalked it up to simple wonderment. Pangs of loneliness shot through him when he pictured her face, but he knew he left her for the better.

So distracted by these thoughts as he was, Saul didn't even notice the gang of cloaked figures stalking him until they attacked.

ooo

"Oh, Maker... Last time I woke up on a dirty floor, wounded and in nothing but my skivvies... it didn't turn out so well..." Rayne turned at Zevran's voice. The room was fairly dim, but she could see him clearly. He had been hurt much more gravely in the attack than she, but for whatever reason their captors had summoned a healer to attend to them. Rayne had no traces of injury left, but Zevran still looked somewhat beat up. "Ah, you're here too, pretty one. That means I'm only slightly less screwed than I was before. Where might we be?"

"I don't know." Rayne gestured to the jail door and the guard outside, falling asleep on the opposite wall. "From the looks of things, we're in the basement of a building somewhere in Denerim, one that's been outfitted specially to hold prisoners. When I awoke, there was a man in a green hood healing me."

"They are keeping us alive, then?" Zevran smiled. "Splendid! And we're both half naked, so that makes it even better."

Suddenly self conscious, Rayne wrapped her arms around her chest. He spoke true, as Rayne was wearing nothing but a dirty blue smock and her underclothes. Zevran, on the other hand, was in some indiscreet, and rather lasciviously designed, knickers.

"I'd rather not think about that, especially with you in the same room." Rayne stood, making her way to the cell door. She grabbed it, shaking it a few times to be sure it was locked.

"Ah! I wouldn't advise trying to escape, girl." Rayne couldn't see the owner of the voice from where she stood, but she did notice the cell guard immediately snap to attention, saluting. A person in a position of power had appeared. If she killed him, she might find a key...

"The pretty one's got quite the jolly mind, Taoran." Rayne saw two men enter her field of vision. One was a rather regal-looking shem, dressed in red, laced finery and carrying an ornamental sword at his waist. The other was the healer from earlier, the man who kept his face hidden by a green hood. The latter man was the one who spoke second, which meant Taoran was likely the name of the regal man. "She deduces quickly. Quite intelligent, despite her origins."

Rayne wasn't sure what the healer was talking about, but she backed away as Taoran approached, key in hand, ready to open the door. As soon as he did that...

"I'd advise not opening the cell, Taoran. She's planning to attack you once it's open." What? How did the hooded man know that?

"Ah. Thanks for the heads up, R." Taoran backed away from the door, looking at Zevran, who was just getting to his feet. "I never quite expected my Captain to bring back a pair of knife-ears. He claimed you two had quite the combat ability. What he didn't tell me was that one was the Chancellor's personal wench and the other is an Elven Crow. Quite a surprise."

Rayne didn't respond, instead struggling to assess the situation.

"The leader of the Elven Crows, actually." Zevran limped forward, struggling to smile despite his injury. Rayne knew he was just trying to keep cool, to gather information nonchalantly. Rayne noticed a smile on the green hooded man's face just then. Why did he give her such an odd feeling?

"I do not doubt that. Zevran, assassin extraordinaire. Your exploits are well known." Taoran was definitely playing the part of passive, applauding captor, but how soon would that change? How quickly will they be executed, considering how these men were so eager to slaughter Rayne's entire company of soldiers.

"Who are you and where are we?" Rayne grabbed the cell doors. She wanted answers and was in no mood to dance around the issues like she knew Zevran would. Taoran didn't seem impressed.

"This is R, a good friend and associate of mine." Taoran motioned towards the green hooded man, who bowed slightly. "My name is Taoran, son of Raelnor, and current leader of the honorable Blackstone Irregulars."

"Not so honorable, considering your attack." Zevran chuckled after he spoke. Rayne was close to rage. How did the assassin keep his cool? "But let's not focus on the past. Obviously you want something from us, else we would be dead. I prefer alive and loose-lipped than dead and uptight."

"As expected from you, Zevran." Taoran smiled. Rayne wasn't sure what to say or do. She wanted free, above all. If information would get them out, then so be it. "You know the business of captivity very well."

"Story of my life. I've always been indebted to some seedy bastard or another." Zevran leaned his shoulder against the wall, staring at Taoran from an angle. "What do you possibly want to know from a couple of innocent guardsmen?"

"Information. And if you both agree not to do anything rash, I'll let you both out so we can talk in more comfortable surroundings." Rayne tensed at that, thinking she could escape after that. No. It was unlikely, as this area would likely be under heavy guard. It was best to go along with Taoran.

"Fine." Zevran nodded, as did Rayne. She noticed Taoran glancing at R, who nodded slightly. After which, Taoran fiddled with the key, turning the lock and letting the door swing wide. Zevran sauntered out, completely unashamed despite his lack of clothing. Rayne, on the other hand, was off guard.

"Can you at least get us some decent clothes?" Rayne slowly exited the cell, emerging into an equally dim room. Through the faint light she could see a row of cells stretching further, darkening as the distance between them and the only sources of light, candles nearby a lone door, grew further.

Taoran snapped his fingers, and the prison guard ran off, likely to fetch what she wanted. Taoran motioned to the door. Zevran complied, and Rayne followed suit. R walked behind them, hands in the pockets of his green overcoat.

Rayne followed Taoran and Zevran through the door, through another hallway and up a set of stairs into a more brightly lit lounge area. Zevran didn't even care that he was near naked despite the more public area. A familiar man sat a table with a few others, pint of ale in his hand. He gazed up at Rayne as she entered, a sly grin on his face. It was the great sword wielding man from earlier, though he was much less hostile.

As Zevran and Taoran chatted idly in front of her, Rayne just stared at the man. He winked, raising his pint to her. A tribute? Rayne saw Taoran motion for him forward. He stood, still looking at Rayne, making his way to his leader.

Rayne didn't feel anger at him, despite everything. She just felt...odd. What was going on?

ooo

"Yes, Captain?" Ryal saluted as he neared Taoran. He kept an eye on the elf girl from the battle the day before, though she was unarmed. He saw her fight, and would not let her get the upper hand by accepting a false pretense of safety due to her lack of weaponry.

"Follow." A sharp order, as per Taoran's usual. Ryal knew better than to judge it as a mark of dissatisfaction at the work he had done. Ryal had brought Taoran exactly what he wanted, and if there was a promotion to give, Ryal would receive it.

Ryal fell in step besides the young elf girl. She glared at him, her emerald eyes boring holes in his skull. Well, he couldn't blame her. Their first encounter was a fight that cost her the lives of numerous soldiers under her command, as well as deep personal injury.

He had to admire her combat ability, however. She fought like a controlled hurricane, her strikes were all carefully coordinated and very precise. She had been taught by the best.

Taoran and his procession entered into his private chambers, the door swiftly closing behind them. R, ever the enigma, silently relocated himself to a corner, close to where Taoran sat down at his desk. Ryal blocked the door, while the two elves positioned themselves where they could easily communicate with Taoran.

Ever the pragmatist, Ryal scanned the room, searching for anything that the two elves could use as weapons should this meeting go south. It was likely unnecessary, but precautions had to be observed, of course.

"As you both already know, I captured you for information." Taoran crossed his arms, leaning back in his chair. "I have questions I wish answered. After that, I assure you that you shall both be released, to crawl back to your chancellor."

"Speak, then." The elf girl was quite blunt, a stark opposite of the near-naked one, who any could tell at a glance focused more on being suave.

"Why were you at the former home of K?" Ryal recognized that pseudonym. K and D were two important members of an influential thieving guild in Denerim. They both attempted to assassinate one another during the Battle of Denerim, both ultimately failing, tearing the guild in two in the process. They both had disappeared after, hiding with the remains of their shattered organization, plotting against each other like madmen.

"Former home of who? You mean the empty lot where I fought that bastard?" The elf girl gestured to Ryal. She was so dainty in her speech, talking so rudely like that. Ryal half expected Taoran to try to instill some manners in her, but he just stared, absent smile on his face.

"Rayne..." The half naked elf murmured something to the elf girl, who turned away but said nothing more. "My apologies, esteemed commander of the Blackstone Irregulars. She's had a rough night. We were there because that is the address Chancellor Adrian gave us to investigate into. Nothing more and nothing less."

"What is the Chancellor after?"

"Couldn't say precisely, m'fraid." Taoran checked with R, who shook his head. Uh oh. The elf was lying. Ryal knew how Taoran would act now. He'd warn them once, and if they lied again...

"I would advise you don't tell me untruths, knife-ears. Your lives depend on the information garner from you. Don't you understand this?" Ryal could tell the half-naked elf was slightly taken aback by this, undoubtedly wondering how Taoran knew he was bluffing.

"We were searching for a man named Vilhm Madon." The elf girl spoke up now, evidently not caring about the information she gave. Odd, considering she didn't exactly seem afraid. People usually didn't tell the truth unless a sword was at their necks. Taoran checked with R again, who nodded. The half naked elf spied a silk robe, one of Taoran's, slipping it on without so much as asking. Ryal noticed a nerve twitch in his commander's forehead, but Taoran said nothing.

"I see. Why is this Vilhm Madon important?"

"Ask Adrian. Hell if he tells me anything anymore." Ryal couldn't help but chuckle. R nodded. "He's been obsessed with the man and it's been driving me to insanity."

Who was Vilhm Madon? Ryal had never heard the name before, but he had to be important if the Chancellor himself was looking for him.

"We really were not told much, Taoran. I'm sure you understand, being a commander and all. It's not always wise to be telling the troops everything, as you'd know." The half-naked elf was rationalizing their lack of information. Ryal admittedly had never been in a situation like this before. How would Taoran react? R nodded, so it was truth.

"You don't know much, then?" Taoran shook his head. "Telling me a name is not enough to bargain for your freedoms. I want more information. Anything!"

"We have nothing to offer." The male elf sighed, likely knowing as well as Ryal did where this was going. R nodded.

"Very well. Ryal, kill them both."

ooo

Saul hit the the tarp, sliding off and onto the ground, rolling to his feet immediately after. His pursuers, whoever they were, hesitated before following. Saul didn't stick around to see the results, but he did hear a shriek and crashing. Hopefully that would take care of one.

The young Cousland turned a corner to an alleyway, drawing his bow. It was stringed and ready. He swiftly notched an arrow, pointing it at the corner. A minute passed, but nobody came. Two minutes. Nothing.

He nervously edged his way to the corner. Five feet away, three, one...A sword slashed at him, just barely missing as the rogue jumped back, releasing the arrow just as a man appeared. It caught him in the forehead, spinning him comically as the arrow threw his corpse off balance. Saul had no time to congratulate himself as another assailant appeared, slashing at him viciously.

Saul stepped back quickly, dropping his bow irreverently and drawing his saber. He barely managed to parry in time, but his enemy's overconfidence after the attack allowed Saul to sidestep him, slashing upwards, blade digging into his stomach and upwards towards heart and lungs. The assassin coughed blood, falling to the ground when Saul withdrew his sword.

He checked around the corner, looking for the remaining two men. Seeing nothing, he quickly bent over the man killed from his sword, checking his pockets. Nothing.

"Damn it!" Saul kicked the corpse, confusion gnawing at him. Why were there assassins after him?

Picking up his bow, Saul swiftly retreated, heading to the Market District. Hopefully they'd lose track of him, whoever 'they' were.


	6. Converging Paths

**Chapter 5: Converging Paths**

_Chainmail dully shining__ in the dying sunlight, Alaric strode confidently into the clearing, his back straight and swagger evident. This man was a confident, proud creature, likely to be filled with mirth even in the darkest of situations. Adrian knew his name, he felt all who mattered would know it, yet he knew not why._

_ Yet Adrian felt disconnected from the scene as it unfolded before him. He was drawn inexplicably towards it, yet remained forever aloof, ephemeral. His presence was benign, his impact nonexistent. Adrian was sure that if the wind was strong enough, it might just blow him away, disappearing into the thick mists that surrounded this strange landscape. He wasn't sure where he was, or how he got here, but there was nothing to do but observe._

_ "Greetings, Magister Harach." Formal at first, but Adrian saw it soon to be a ruse. The grin on Alaric's face betrayed the friendship the two men shared, a deep bond formed through years of trials, hardships most weaker men would succumb to, crying out for their Maker with nothing but deliverance on their mind._

_ "Is that how you greet an old friend, Alaric? With a finger up your rear, afraid to be offensive in any slight way?" Harach smiled as Alaric's arms raised, grabbing his friend, pulling him into a tight hug. The two had been apart a long time, a period neither could stand very easily._

_ "About damned time you return from the Imperium. The Clayne has been a pain in the arse and without your brilliant tactics we've lost some ground. Not much, but noticeable." Alaric's face suddenly seemed more weary, yet he maintained a positive disposition, even to the slaves trailing Harach, carrying an excruciatingly heavy chest with them. "My men are somewhat discouraged by recent events. Our last battle with the Clayne forced us to retreat. Imagine that! The Imperium forced back by mere barbarians! The Archon will have my head if he discovers this blunder."_

_ "And I'm about to reverse that." Harach motioned behind him, and Adrian saw the cabal of slaves pull the chest forward, straining under its weight. Finally, they buckled, the chest dropped with a loud, dull thud atop the grassy ground. Harach seemed slightly annoyed by the blunder, but said nothing to criticize the slaves. "I've brought you a gift from home, a suit of armor I enchanted, forged from the finest of silverite by the best lyrium folders in all Thedas! The Archon placed the order himself, knowing you'll have great need for it. We call it the Juggernaut armor, as it's invincible as the towering stone guardians of Minrathous."_

_ Harach fiddled with the lock, swinging the top open to reveal an immaculate suit of armor, forged from fine silverite and engraved with fantastical Tevinter runes. Adrian could feel the dark pulsations from it as well, evidence of the blood magic used to enchant it. Oddly enough, he felt drawn to the armor. It seemed almost...familiar._

_ Alaric's mouth dropped in awe, his face uncertain. He slowly reached over, his mouth opening and closing multiple times in disbelief at the Juggernaut armor._

_ "You...impossible. I am speechless..." Alaric almost leaped in joy, running his hands over the suit of armor. "You have proven yourself a true friend and more, caring about me so. It must have been a fortune to make."_

_ "Believe me, it did. But cost is of no matter. I'd rather spend my entire life savings and have you survive than drape myself in luxury while I watch a friend fall in battle for using second-rate armor." Adrian could feel the closeness of the two men, but that was all he could see. All else around him was a blur, as if looking through a dream... The mist around the scene was strong, and the further away from the spectacle before him, the thicker it became, eventually just fading into a supposed solid wall of whiteness stretching out for eternity."I argued with myself for days about how much magic I'd imbue in it."_

_ Adrian was forced to be fixated on the scene, though he was unsure why. Couldn't move... couldn't think... couldn't free himself... His very location, the state of mind he was in, it was all so strange, so rooted. _

_ "These two men hardly knew what the real cost of making that armor was." A voice, that of a young girl. Adrian felt the binding release slightly from him. Turning, he saw the source of it, not more than 12, sitting on a rock, unhappily gazing at the spectacle. Her black hair fell over her eyelids sloppily, her face held in one hand while she sat. She looked... bored. There was no other way to put it. Her familiarity was unusual, however. Adrian had seen her face before, yet he could not place it._

_ "What do you mean?" Adrian approached slowly, wary of the girl. He knew that both he and she were detached from the scene, observers incapable of interacting, though the reason as to why eluded him. They could only watch and do nothing. Even as Adrian spoke, the young girl didn't so much as look at him, instead fiddling with her fingers as she stared wistfully at Alaric and Harach. "Where are we?"_

_ "You don't know?" She glanced at him once, turning her head just enough for Adrian to see her heterochromia, one eye red, the other yellow. He knew this girl from somewhere, yet his memory eluded him. Her disposition seemed unusual for a 12 year old, however. The face she made was not one of innocent, childish joy or happiness. It was an adult's face, one reserved only for those tired, tired of anything and everything. "Maybe you aren't as powerful a mage as Mother always bragged. I bet you don't even know who I am, yet again. Another repeat. Blast it all."_

_ "Yet again? A repeat?" Adrian drew closer, struggling to recall. Something was amiss... "What riddles are you speaking in?"_

_ "Does not matter. You're trapped in a vicious cycle and I see no way of freeing you. No point, and I've tried so many times already. I've begged, I've cried, I've pleaded. I've opened my heart in more way than Mother can shake a finger at. None of it works." The girl huffed, turning her head downwards. "Watch this part closely, lest you forget it for the umpteenth time."_

_ "It fits perfectly!" Alaric had already slipped into the gargantuan suit of armor. He seemed unearthly, yet so many things in this scene were, not least of which was the girl. Adrian felt powerless here, insignificant. A transient observer. Nothing more. "Mouse has outdone himself yet again. Thank him for me, will you? My, he knows his armor."_

_ "Already done." Harach's smile broadened. "With my tactics and that armor aiding you, the Clayne shall fall soon enough. This forgotten corner of Thedas shall finally submit, forever under Imperium control. Mouse is confident these barbarians will die swiftly, perishing from our fire and steel."_

_ "About damned time." Mouse... Mouse... Why did that name ring so many bells? Just as with this young girl, that name seemed incredibly important, yet Adrian could not summon the proper memories. It was if something was blocking his own mind from communicating with himself. What was going on?_

_ "Please, child. Answer my questions, for I cannot answer them myself." Adrian laid a gentle hand on the strange girl's shoulder. She flinched at first touch, but calmed quickly. He almost felt some sort of happiness from her, yet he could not be certain of anything in this strange world._

_ "No... I've answered too many of your questions, hundreds and hundreds of times over. Maybe I'll start doing it again. Maybe my next attempt will rouse you from this stupor. Or maybe you'll wander, lost for all eternity while all you've ever known is taken from you." The girl laid one of her own hands on his, a simple gesture, one Adrian knew he should have found odd for a stranger, yet he felt no need to shy away. This girl was important, though he was not sure why. Who was she? "And maybe I'll give up. Or maybe not. I'm not one to make these decisions."_

_ She stood, Adrian's hand still in her own, leading him away from the clearing where Harach and Alaric conversed, admiring over the armor set called Juggernaut. The further he was led from them, the less he seemed aware of, his surroundings fading into oblivion. Sleepiness started clinging to his eyelids, rapidly falling over him until Adrian was barely even conscious of the young girl leading him by the hand._

_ Confusion was all that gripped him. Fear tugged at the corners of his mind. Odium at some unseen force and the strange girl to top it all off. Adrian closed his tired eyes slowly, still walking, somehow certain he'd been through this before, and would do so for many times yet._

_ "Sleep, Father. Maybe next time you awaken I'll have more success." Adrian thought he felt the grip on his hand tighten. "Or have I lost you forever?"_

ooo

Myr struggled with the key to the warehouse, jiggling it up and down. The heavy padlock wouldn't budge, just dangling stubbornly, refusing to open itself to the girl. Eventually, the elf just gave up, placing her hands over the lock, muttering a spell.

In seconds, the lock fell apart, door swinging wide. Now all she had to do was find a place to sit and wait. She knew that R would make his way back to this warehouse eventually. This was where he always went when he was too tired of the petty lives of small-minded Denerim citizens. Stepping inside and shutting the door behind her, Myr squinted in the darkness, the familiar shapes of towering boxes and barrels around her.

She recalled the first time she visited Denerim, over a year before. She was young then, too sheltered from life in the Circle Tower to truly understand harsh reality. The first night she spent outside the tower was filled with uncertainty and fear, not just at what would happen if the Templars found her, but also of the vast, unknown world she had happened upon.

That scared little girl was gone now, and she owed it to R for that. Myr had met him shortly after her first visit to Denerim, her eyes wide in wonderment of how large the city was, intimidated by the vastness of it all. R had helped her overcome that. He was a strange old man, his head constantly covered in a long green hood, always talking in riddles. She knew immediately he didn't operate on the proper side of the law.

But instead of scaring her, it fascinated her, partly because Myr knew she too was not living legally. He never told her his real name, just going by that single letter. In a way, it defined him. A stubborn old man, a mage even, living a life of secrecy, not even divulging his name to any who made business with him.

He was an enigma, but a powerful one. He tutored Myr in this very warehouse, and she was happy for a time. Eventually, the templars caught up to them. R told her he'd handle it, but she grew scared for him, fleeing in the night to prevent them from locating R. She didn't know what happened to him after that. All she could do was hope that he survived.

"Nostalgic..." Myr's hands traced the broom she sparred R with, notches etched on the side, numbering how many times she fell in defeat. She had cut them into the wood to make sure she remembered how often she'd have to pay the older man back for winning. She never got the chance.

Myr wasn't sure how R would react to her suddenly showing up in his home, but she figured she'd just have to hope for the best.

And now, surrounded by artifacts she had so many fond memories of, Myr slunk back into a corner, just a few feet away from the lone window, a dark spot where she remembered sleeping so many times, comforted by the protective presence of R.

She soon was asleep, more soundly than she ever had been on her journeys around Ferelden. If only she could have shown Saul this place...

ooo

Rayne dove forward as soon as Taoran's words left his mouth, faster even than Zevran, who had just started sprinting for Ryal's weapon. Her target: the ornamental sword at Taoran's waist. It may be simple decoration, but if it was sharp, it could be used.

She recalled her mother's first teachings, that anything that could be touched was a possible weapon. A book, a stick, a person. All in Thedas possessed the capability to kill, whether it was conscious of that fact or not.

Getting a hand on the sword just as Taoran did, there was a brief moment of hesitation in both of them. Rayne reacted faster, drawing the blade and swiftly backing away, turning just in time to see Zevran kick the larger man out the door, shattering its hinges and swinging it wide.

"Come on!" They both sprinted through the opening, leaving Taoran and R behind with Ryal laying on the ground, already recovering, ready to stand. Rayn glanced back once, to see if either R or Taoran were going to pursue them. Taoran had a dumb, surprised expression on his face. R's face was unreadable, though she sense a hint of a smile at the corner of his lips. She turned away too soon to check.

They bolted down the corridor, Zevran just a few strides ahead. Rayne followed closely, not thinking about what direction to take, just acting. The first door flew open, and Rayne just barely had enough to time to slip through when she had to dodge an incoming piece of furniture Zevran was pushing over the door.

"Sorry." The assassin shrugged, unapologetic, already moving on, his pace quickening as they ran through room after room, startling more than one passerby, each of which stood surprised for a second before pursuing.

Soon enough there was almost a horde after them, each one shouting and swinging a weapon. If Rayne so much as stopped moving, she would be dead. It was nerve wracking, flinging open doors wildly, running through rooms in the maze that was the Irregular's hideout.

But they were moving upwards, somehow. As confusing as it was, Rayne knew Zevran was leading them in the right way. All she had to do was trust him. Trust Zevran, as detestable as that was.

ooo

"Damnable elves..." Ryal muttered to himself, pulling himself upright just as the two flew open a door down the hall. Luckily, the two likely didn't know how to escape. Unluckily, they picked the right door to do so. He knew he couldn't outrun two knife-ears, but he gave chase anyway.

Only to be stopped as soon as he reached the door they went through. They had barricaded it from the other side, heavily. He couldn't even budge it.

"Damn it!" Ryal lashed out, kicking the door with as much power as he could muster. Again he kicked it, and again, until he felt a hand on his shoulder. Ryal turned sharply, but relaxed when he simply saw it was R.

"Not all things are as they appear, Captain." R approached, laying his hand on the door. The wood shimmered slightly, bending and warping under his grip. Ryal watched in disbelief as a hole slowly appeared as the wood melted out of the way, leaving an opening just large enough for Ryal to fit through. "I'd appreciate if you weren't too harsh when you find them. I have use for them yet."

Ryal slipped through the hole, running up the stairs. He heard shouting and movement ahead. Likely the two elves had been found by other Irregulars. It was hopefully only a matter of time before they were recaptured and executed. No mercy would be shown, for that is how Taoran acted.

The mercenary captain had a fleeting thought of how things used to be, of how Raelnor always held his word, never harsh or cruel. Things were better back then. But there was no room for complaining. Ryal had a job to do. Find the elves. And kill them.

ooo

"Who sent you?" Saul's grip around her neck increased, the pressure showing on the assassin's face. Despite how he tried to evade the strange group chasing him, they somehow could gauge his every move, and there were more than he had originally thought. "Who are you!"

"Just...die...like you...were supposed to..." Saul increased his grip, the woman's face contorting in pain. She was digging her nails into Saul's skin, but he hardly felt it. "I will...tell you nothing!"

Saul's hands dug in deeper, bruises forming on her frail neck. She was underfed, poor-looking and barely looked able when she jumped him in an alleyway behind The Wonders of Thedas. Unfortunately for her, Saul was ready, easily outmaneuvering her.

"Tell me!" Saul was near shouting. He knew nobody could hear them, as the bustle of the Market District blocked out most sound, and nobody would bother to check a dark, narrow and empty alleyway in some private, forgotten corner.

Her response was to spit on him. Saul snapped her neck in return. He felt nothing when the girl slumped over, dead. Killing was routine, and he thought little of when or how he did it. His only regret was that she didn't tell him anything.

Saul continued down the alleyway, alert and watching for signs of an attack. A single archer on a rooftop or poking through a window could end his life quickly, for one could not dodge an arrow so easily. Regretting how he didn't look back to check how many were chasing him, Saul shook his head in disbelief. He had only been in Denerim for a day. Why was he being hunted?

Following the snaking dark corridors that made up the back alleys of Denerim, Saul kept his head low and ears alert. An attack could come from anywhere, anytime. He had no intention of dying just yet.

What he didn't expect, however, was for the door nearest to him to shatter open, wood chunks spraying over him, followed swiftly by a sword swing. Saul barely managed to bring up his saber in time to block the attack, the culprit being a tan, blonde elf. Another elf was just behind him, a single longsword in one hand, though she seemed uninterested in Saul.

"Damn assassins! How many of you do I have to kill before you take a hint?" Saul viciously swung at the blonde elf, not noticing the surprise on his face. What mattered was that the elf was attacking Saul, and he could not let him succeed.

"I'm the assassin? As ironic as what I'm about to say may be, I'm the one being hunted here!" The blonde elf huffed out with every strike, his movements fluid. He was much better trained than the ones before. Saul noticed the female elf was already running down the corridor at full speed, her movement fervent.

"Zevran!" The blonde elf glanced behind him, just for a moment. Saul kicked him in the chest, sending him backwards a few feet, yet the nimble elf kept on his feet.

"Forgive me, friend. I must take my leave of you." Saul's current assailant pivoted, swiftly turning, running after the female from before. Saul hesitated for a moment before following, sheathing his saber, struggling to keep the blonde in sight as he dodged through alley merchants, barrels and other such obstacles as he made his way to the more heavily populated sections of the Market District. It wasn't until shortly after that Saul realized he was being pursued again, though the current band following him was larger and not dressed in black. There were too many to fight.

Not only was he running to pursue to elves, he also realized the men behind him wouldn't likely be too friendly if they managed to catch up. So his only choice was the chase the two elves, or run off on his own in hopes that he could continue hiding from the assassins.

No. He wanted answers. Saul was never one to leave a tale half told and even if this distracted him from his objective, the young Cousland needed answers. By any means necessary. Once he caught up that damned blond elf, he'd...

An arrow whizzed past Saul's head, ingraining itself into the post of a merchant's stall just to the right of him. So these new men meant business after all...

"Damn it all. Today isn't my day." Saul stole a quick look behind him. First black-clad assassins and now these men. If there were gods, Saul knew they hated him.

ooo

"Something tells me we're not in a happy situation. How 'bout you, Rayne?" Rayne could hear the assassin gasping behind her. Stress combined with heavy muscular exertion was making this a harsh trip. If only they could stop...

"Quit yer fucking complaining!" Oh, how she enjoyed the flowery language. Easy to communicate a point if you're swearing and yelling. "And keep yer fucking feet moving!"

"You're killing me, Rayne..." Crash, a tumble. Rayne stopped, hurriedly turning to see Zevran laying on the ground, prone. Rayne's first impulse was to run, leaving the assassin to his inevitable fate, seeing as the shem from before was rapidly closing the distance between them, Irregulars close behind.

Yes, Zevran deserved it. He betrayed Rayne, nearly causing both her and Adrian to die helpless and alone in an alleyway. If they hadn't somehow been lucky, then the assassin's attempt on their life would have spelled tragedy not just for them, but for all of Ferelden. He should be left there to die. No more fitting a fate than a death at the hand of mercenaries for a backstabbing assassin.

Rayne turned away. Yes. Zevran deserved it. He deserved it. He deserved it...

"Come on!" Rayne grabbed Zevran by the hand, roughly pulling him upwards, leading him into the crowds of the Market District. Hopefully they'd lose their pursuers there.

ooo

Saul wasn't about to wade through a crowd of people. He skirted along the edges of the district, sticking close to the various shops and buildings. He saw the Irregulars react with confusion as to where to go. None were certain exactly where their prey had run off to. All the better, then. Saul was a hunter. He knew where the elves were. He knew where they were going.

Sprinting around the crowd, he made for a window of a building he saw the female elf leading the other towards. It was a gamble, but people were predictable, their minds often made up long beforehand, subconsciously, of what direction they are going to take.

Slipping inside the window quickly, unnoticed, Saul realized, with relief, that the building was a simple warehouse. No one would disturb them here.

He stubbed his foot against a crate, shaking a tower of boxes. Biting back the pain, he notched an arrow, making his way to the door. Now all he had to do was wait for the door to open, and he'd have the elves in his trap.

ooo

Rayne kept a firm grip on Zevran's hand as they both bumbled through the crowd, knocking people, goods, barrels and boxes over. She needed to find a place to hide, to wait out the oncoming horde of Irregulars.

A large building loomed before her on the other end of the Market District. It would be a stretch to get to it, but the size and structure of it meant it was likely a warehouse, a place she and Zevran could rest, if just for a small while.

She forced Zevran along even faster, pissing off even more people as they struggled to fight against the crowd. Eventually, the emerged, making a beeline to the building she had set her sights on. Glancing behind her, Rayne confirmed nobody was looking for her, the man from before had disappeared and the Irregulars were awkwardly searching without trying to ignite an incident with the crowd of merchants, customers and whatnot.

Luckily, the door was not locked. Rayne turned the handle, pushing the large door open swiftly, pushing Zevran inside.

ooo

Myr was jolted awake by the sound of movement within the warehouse. R wouldn't have been so careless and was usually too silent to even be noticed. A stranger, then. A robber? A simple vagabond?

She didn't see his face, but Myr knew he was armed. She stood quietly, her hand gripping her dagger, unsheathing it as quietly as she could. Noticing the man bumbling about in the dark of the warehouse uncertainly, she kept to the shadows, dagger held out before her. Myr felt a slight hint of panic welling up inside her, but she forced it down. She had to keep a cool head.

A quick strike to the back of the beck would take him down, and she knew how to navigate this warehouse without a sound. Even in the dark, she saw his frame, though not much else of his details.

He was armed, so Myr had to make this quick. Dagger leading, Myr crept up to the man notching an arrow, his face intent. Whatever he was doing didn't matter. Nobody intruded upon R's home. R made that very clear when she was last here.

Myr raised the dagger, still unheard and unseen. Soon this would-be robber would be dead, and Myr could proudly present a trophy to R, proclaiming her steadfast defense of his hideout.

What she didn't expect was for the door to swing wide open as a blonde elf was thrown in by another elf behind him. Light temporarily blinding her, Myr plunged the dagger downwards.


	7. Truth is Never What it Seems

**Chapter 6: Truth is Never What it Seems  
**

_He awoke to the sound of singing, a sweet melody brushing his ears, coaxing him softly from sweet reverie. Not a bad thing to wake up to, certainly._

_ Adrian sat up, glancing about the camp sleepily. It was probably Leliana, though she must have jumped an octave higher than usual over night, and lost some voice lessons. Still, it was nice. Alistair was already up, cooking some of his delectable gray slop, an obvious favourite for the group of adventurers._

_ Sten was playing with Sanskrit, while Oghren was chatting up Wynne, obviously drunk despite the early morning. As much as the stressful life on the road was, what with struggling to unite Ferelden against the Blight, these quiet mornings were a welcome reprieve, even if the peace was only a shallow lie._

_ Zevran was whittling something, leaning against the tree while speaking with Leliana, undoubtedly trying to bed her, yet again. Wait, if Leliana was talking to the assassin, where was the singing coming from?_

_ Adrian stood, arching his back while he stretched, freeing up cramped muscles from sleeping on the ground with nary a bedroll to be used. The entrancing singing still continuing, though none of his companions seemed to take note of it._

_ The only ones missing from the camp were Morrigan and Shale. Odd, considering the two were likely together, and because they didn't do much interacting. Adrian approached Alistair, questions on his mind._

_ "Alistair." The templar looked up, smiling. "Where's Morrigan and Shale? I had intended to take them with me into Redcliffe today."_

_ "Good morning, Adrian. Sleep well?" Adrian nodded. "Good."_

_ Silence. Adrian shifted on his feet, waiting for a reply to his questions. Eventually, slightly annoyed, he asked again._

_ "Where's Morrigan and Shale?" Alistair just looked up,faint smile still on his face._

_ "Are you going to eat one serving or two?"_

_ "Answer my question, idiot. This isn't funny."_

_ "Are you feeling alright?" Angered, Adrian strutted away, leaving Alistair to the cooking. The templar didn't even so much as lift his head when the mage walked away. Something was wrong..._

_ "Sten!" He could count on the Qunari to give him a straight answer. The large man stood from where he was playing with the dog, face betraying no emotion, as usual. "Where's Shale and Morrigan?"_

_ Sten kept staring, his face unchanging, a stick hanging down from his right hand. Angered, Adrian ground his foot into the earth, twisting it. They were messing with him! The Qunari stared at him slightly longer before turning back to the dog, wiggling the stick playfully._

_ "They won't answer you." The singing stopped, and Adrian spun, sensing another presence in the camp. A young girl sat, perch atop a lop to the side, swinging her feet slightly. She wore a short black dress, and a scimitar protruded from the log to her side. Her eyes seemed cold, unfeeling, but the coloration seemed most unusual. One yellow, one red._

_ "Why not? Who are you?" The girl hung her head, as if in defeat, as soon as the words left his lips. She stopped swinging her legs, gripping her scimitar in her right hand._

_ "I give up!" She jumped off, landing easily and stalking off, scimitar dragging behind her, leaving a trail of black soot behind it. "Every time it's like this! What purpose is there?"_

_ Adrian was about to speak, but was interrupted by the girl when she struck the blade out, slicing Sten in two. Before he could react, the Qunari just fazed away, a shadow escaping from him._

_ "Why are you so weak, Father!" The girl was shouting at him, waving the sword wildly. Adrian was stunned, taking aback by the display, struggling to comprehend what was going on._

_ "Father? Who? Me?" Adrian dumbly pointed to his own chest, still struggling to keep his eyes off the spot Sten had been crouching a second before. "Is Sten... did you just...? Oh, Maker..."_

_ "Maker?" The girl cocked a twisted grin, still staring at Adrian. "You would utter the name of a false god over that of your own daughter? Why is it that you always know of the Maker, yet never of me? Explanations upon explanations. I grow tired of this."_

_ She slashed again, this time at the dog, who dissipated in a black haze. The young girl turned away, mumbling to herself, occasionally swinging her sword. Adrian knew she was angry, yet didn't understand why. He didn't understand any of it. What had seemed like a familiar scene in camp just a few seconds before now seemed fake, a lie. What was going on?_

_ "Wait! Explain something to me." Adrian jogged up behind the girl. She didn't turn until he was just behind her, but when she did it came with the weight of the sword behind it. Adrian could barely dodge out of the way._

_ "I've had enough of explaining with you! Always questions! Always problems! You can never simply figure these things out on your own..." Adrian fell backwards, narrowly avoiding her strike, landing on his rear. Adrian stared up at the girl. Tears marred her dirt-streaked face, her shoulders slouched and sword hanging low to her side. "And you never remember me..."_

_ "I... don't know who you are." Adrian regretted the words as soon as he said it. Instead of violently lashing out against him, the girl just stopped crying, lifting her head to the sky. The look on her face as she gazed at the clouds was one of complete defeat, a look one would have when all hope is lost. Forever. But it was odd. Adrian realized just then he couldn't see the clouds... it was like something was preventing him from doing so._

_ "I know. You've told me that hundreds of times. I've told you who I was just as many. There's never any results." The girl turned away, walking slowly towards the exit of the camp._

_ "Tell me again. Maybe this will be different." The girl didn't so much as look back._

_ "I fell for that a couple times. I cried and hugged you, and you told me all those reassuring words. Just lies. All of it. I've heard your promises never to forget more times than can be counted." The girl suddenly changed course, making a beeline to Alistair, who was just pulling out the bowls to pour his gray sludge in. The girl took off his head swiftly, his body falling over, dissipating before it even hit the ground._

_ Oddly enough, the soup suddenly changed from gray sludge to some appealing broth mix, and Leliana walked over with Zevran, mixing the soup with a ladle. Whatever this strange place was, it simply adapted in response to events around it._

_ "Why are you attacking my friends?" Adrian said they were, but he didn't feel any kinship. None of his companions felt like they had the life, the vigor they usually did._

_ "Don't you get it, Father? This isn't real. None of it is." Adrian was about to open his mouth, to respond when he was interrupted by the girl again. "Yeah, I know. You're about to say something to the effect of 'I had my suspicions. Please tell me more. Blah, blah, blah."_

_ Adrian's words caught in his throat. She was right, somehow. How did she..._

_ "How did I know?" The girl smiled, approaching Adrian again, sheathing her scimitar. "Because I've been in this situation, this exact memory, before. Many times. It always turns out the same way, no matter how I try to change it up. I've done some pretty drastic things, but none of it matters. You always acted the same, disbelieving way."_

_ The girl smirked, as if some sarcastic memory had popped into her head. Shaking her head, she kept wandering about, an intense bored expression on her face._

_ "I even stripped your friends once. None of them noticed, but you sure did. I tried every surprise possible, just to jar you from this... I'm out of ideas now." There was no enjoyment in her voice, just a monotone sound Adrian was struggling to figure out. Wracking his brain, Adrian could come up with only one thought. _

_ "Where's Mouse?" The girl stopped dead in her tracks, a disbelieving look on her face. "I normally can always feel him, ever watching me. Now I feel empty. That's not right. A demon can't leave my body overnight."_

_ "That's only happened a couple of times so far." The girl smirked, shaking her head. "Nothing special. You're still lost and hopeless."_

_ "Then why are you still here?" Adrian wasn't about to let this drop. Something was definitely off. "Why would my daughter be searching me out in memories?"_

_ "Oh, well aren't you clever. Normally you don't figure this much out. Maybe you'll beat your last record, though most likely not."_

_ "Why am I not in control of myself?" The girl was still shaking her head, eyes closed. Adrian thought he could see tears rimming her eyes again._

_ "Don't make me hope, Father. It's too painful. Mother always said to expect little from others, that only your own strength can lead you out of the dark. I always listened to her advice. It made so much more sense than anything else..."_

_ "But you shouldn't even be born yet." The girl opened her eyes then, slowly turning to face Adrian. Her mouth was hanging open slightly, almost imperceptibly. "Morrigan and I performed that ritual only a small while ago."_

_ "How long!" The girl rushed over to him, gripping Adrian's robes, pulling him downwards. Adrian was taken aback by the sudden ferocity she portrayed. A second earlier she had been quiet, detached and angered at something. Now she was animated and, dare he say, excited? "How long has it been since the ritual!"_

_ Adrian thought... he didn't know. His first thought was that it was only a few nights past, before the final battle... the battle with the Archdemon... He... the Archdemon died? How long ago was this? How long has he been here? This setting with his companions could not have occured beyond the death of the Archdemon, which means... it already happened. This isn't real. He remembered the voice, the song. The song! It had silenced Mouse, but only for a short while. It was the same song he heard this girl sing as he awoke, the very one that kept him here, alive._

_ "Is Ferelden safe?" The girl nodded, tears were now pouring down her face. Adrian wrapped his arms around his daughter, pulling her close while her body wracked with sobs. She held him in a death grip, amusing Adrian slightly. "Mouse has me trapped here, in this cage of his own making." He felt a swift nod. "But he cannot destroy me, not with you here. You're keeping me alive." Another nod._

_ "Then it's time to find a way out of this prison."_

ooo

What Myr didn't expect was for the 'robber' to be Saul. What she did expect was his quick reaction. His first fist knocked the dagger away, while the second stopped short of striking her face. And in the confusion the two elves at the door had drawn their weapons, the door slowly swinging shut.

"Myr?" Saul stared in disbelief at her.

"Saul?" An equal amount in her stared back at him. But then Myr got a better look at the elves.

"Rayne?" Myr recognized the dark hair, the emerald eyes. They spoke of lost memories, long before she was taken to the circle tower.

"Zevran?" Myr, Saul and Rayne stared at the fourth person who had been forced through the portal first by Rayne. "What? Everyone was saying everyone's names. I felt left out."

Myr collapsed onto a crate, heaving a great sigh. She had almost killed Saul, though the surprise of that revelation was far outweighed by her relief at seeing him again. As for Rayne and the other elf, Zevran, Myr had no words for her surprise.

"I didn't expect to find... you here. They took you away years ago, Miranda."

"Miranda? Not my name." Myr stared at Rayne, who still hadn't moved from her spot. Confusion gnawed at her, as long buried memories started to surface. The face of elves she grew up with, but not only that. Days of playing with Rayne, Soris and Shianni in the alleyways, nights in Valendrian's house, telling tales of the past brilliance of elves. It was odd, but still incomplete. Nothing revolutionary.

"Yes, it is." Rayne slowly approached, keeping tabs on Saul, who was uncertain what to make of the situation, while she stared at Myr. "I remember you. I thought they locked you in the Circle Tower after what happened. Maker, that was six years ago."

"What is this? Rayne isn't being threatening or angry to a newcomer? Quite odd." Myr noticed Rayne shoot a glance at Zevran, who looked away quickly, pointing at Saul, who still stood apart, aloof.

"What are you doing here?" Myr shifted in her seat as she spoke, gazing upwards at the two familiar faces and lone unknown one. Rayne didn't respond, instead focusing on Saul, who was keeping a hand on the saber at his waist, uncertain about the unfolding events around him.

"Who is he?" Oh. Right. Rayne hated humans. Forgot about that. Myr hurriedly stood, placing herself between Saul and Rayne, hoping neither would do anything stupid.

"A friend." Myr could feel Saul tensing behind her.

"What was the meaning of attacking me, elf?" Saul spoke slowly, his voice monotone, as usual. "I have done nothing to you." Saul took a threatening step forward, laying a hand on Myr's shoulder, ready to push her out of the way to get at Rayne and Zevran if need be. "Who were your companions that had attacked me? Why are there assassins after me?"

Zevran's ears perked up at that, a curious expression on his face.

"Assassins? My friend, tell me more." Zevran took a cautious step forward as well.

"I'm being hunted. You would know, wouldn't you? You're part of their group."

"Hunted by what?"

"Poorly trained men and women clad in black armor."Saul pushed Myr out of the way, advancing on Zevran, grabbing him by the top of the robe and dragging him upwards, coming to eye level with the man. "Why are they after me?"

"Saul! Stop it!" Myr grabbed his arm, straining to get him to let go.

"My friend..." Zevran coughed, gripped tight by the larger man. "I do believe... this is a misunderstanding. I've no part in it..."

Myr flinched as she heard the sound of unsheathing steel. Saul looked up as well, just as Rayne leveled her sword in front of her, menacing at him.

"Let him go." Rayne's eyes were fierce, much more so than Myr remembered. Rayne had always been a serious child, if Myr's vague childhood memories served. She was also highly protective. Saul simply stared, Zevran still pulled tight.

"I want answers. Who is after me?" Myr grew increasingly nervous. This situation was going downhill, fast. Zevran and Rayne seemed to be on one side, and both would likely cause Saul harm if he kept threatening them. Myr knew she had to stop this before things devolved further.

"I keep telling you, friend. As much as it pains me to admit as much, I'm not aware of your situation. Our encounter was chance, and chance alone. Nothing more." Zevran smiled widely. "So, if you would be so kind, would you mind letting me go? You're ruffling my robe."

They each stood there, unmoving, for a few tense moments, each staring at another. Saul, with Zevran hooked in his vicegrip. Rayne, glaring down Saul, while Myr glanced back and forth, uncertain what to do. Finally, the Cousland released his grip and Myr breathed a heavy sigh of relief.

"And here I was thinking I might just be a goner." Zevran stumbled backwards, gripping a tower of crates to steady himself. "Maybe now we can return to the Chancellor in peace, now that we've managed to escape all our various enemies." Zevran chuckled. "As if that's possible."

"The chancellor?" Myr's interest was piqued, and she was desperate to move the group beyond the moment of near-violent awkwardness. "You two... Rayne, you work for him?"

Rayne nodded, her face still stoney. It perturbed Myr that she portrayed little emotion aside from anger, but there was no reason to pry into her life. Likely she had been put through many hardships, as had all of Ferelden during the Blight.

"Work for him?" Zevran laughed. "We're his personal guard, though we've got quite the spectacular failure to report. I suspect we may not hold our position for long.

"Adrian would never fire me." Rayne turned towards the door, hiding her face. But that wasn't what threw Myr off.

"Adrian Amell? The Hero of Ferelden? He's the Chancellor?" Zevran and Rayne's only response was to stare incredulously.

"Forgive me for my surprise, but have you been living under a rock?" Zevran said, shaking his head.

"Kinda, yeah."

"Adrian Amell is the Acting Ruler of Ferelden while King Alistair and Queen Anora are visiting Orlais. Fergus Cousland's been helping him out, but it's mostly Adrian running the show." Zevran continued. "It seems unlikely such a pretty young lady would be so ignorant of Ferelden affairs."

Myr's words caught in her throat, feeling some slight blushing. Well, now she thought about it, Zevran was quite handsome...

"Don't bother with that lecher, Miranda." Rayne gripped the handle to the door. "Come, Zevran. We have to report back."

Zevran gave an elegant bow to Myr before pivoting, just barely managing to slip outside the door before Rayne slammed it in his face. Neither Saul or Myr talked for a moment, awkward silence pervading the warehouse.

"So, uh, hi again." Myr turned to Saul, who was still looking at the door. He didn't respond immediately, instead waiting, most likely thinking. When he did speak, however, it was with a tone she'd never heard from him before.

"My brother is in Denerim..." Saul's voice was quivering, his gaze slowly falling to the floor. His face was filled with shock, but Myr also saw a hint of relief, and was that happiness? "He's... alive?"

Not sure of what to say, Myr just laid a hand on Saul's shoulder, allowing him to take in the information without any interruption. Saul had always seemed like an empty individual, hellbent on some unknown objective, always steadfast and never faltering, dedicated beyond all logical bounds. To see him so shocked as to be stopped in his tracks, his mind completely occupied by events around him was a surprise all of its own.

"I need to see him."

ooo

Saul found himself suddenly uncertain. Even with Myr guiding him to the palace, he kept wanting to turn around, to flee from the truth. At multiple points he simply stopped in his tracks, overwhelmed. When Myr noticed he'd stopped, she'd run back to him, quickly taking his hand and leading him onward.

Suddenly the Howes didn't seem so important, though Saul kept doing a double take whenever he thought of that. For a year, killing the Howe's was the most important thought... No. It was the only thought Saul had. His reasoning was the loss of his family. His entire family.

Myr was silent, but she kept a smile on her face as she led him along. He was grateful, if not for her he might have just run away. To face a fact that had been denied for so long was terrifying, to say the least.

What had been important but an hour earlier, finding out who the assassins were, was now pushed to the back of his mind. Saul didn't even care if they attacked now.

"Are you happy?" They were nearing the palace gates now, and Myr had stopped, gazing upwards at the looming buildings ahead. Saul was startled by the level of serenity on her face. She had always seemed without a care, but he never really saw the full extent of it until now. It was... startling. She seemed beautiful.

"I... don't know." Saul's words came slowly, his mind still operating sluggishly. Myr just smiled. Drawing closer to the gates, Myr still had to lead Saul along. A few guards walked up to them, weapons at ready, but with protective intentions, not violent ones.

"State your business, citizen." The leader, likely the captain, approached non-threateningly. He seemed oddly familiar, but Saul dismissed it. Not wanting Myr to talk for him, Saul decided to speak up.

"My name is Saul Maximillian Cousland, second son to Teyrn Bryce Cousland, deceased ruler of Highever castle." Finally understanding this wasn't a dream, Saul decided to take the lead, walking towards the guard authoritatively. For the first time in a year, Saul felt in control. "I am here to see my older brother, Fergus Cousland, whom I've been led to believe is residing here."

The guard stared blankly for a second, incredulous look on his face. Moments later, his jaw dropped, his command of posture failing.

"My lord? It's... really you?" Now it was Saul's turn to be confused. Sure, this man looked familiar...but... no, he was...

"Ser Gilmore?" The young, redheaded knight from so long ago was nearly gone, replaced by a gruff, bearded figure obviously burdened by hardship. It was a strange transition, but the relief of finding his long-time friend was almost equally as overwhelming as discovering his brother was alive. "I thought you died! I... you stayed there at the gates, to hold off Arl Howe's men. How did you survive? Maker, you look nothing like you used to."

"I could say the same of you, my lord! But Fergus will want to see you immediately, so we'll have to catch up later." Ser Gilmore was beaming now, gesturing his men to open the gates. The gates swinging open loudly, Ser Gilmore led Saul inside, but paused when Myr followed. "Uh, my lord... I'm afraid the elf can't come with you."

Saul glanced back at Myr, who just smiled and nodded, waving her hand to let Saul know she wasn't bothered by it. In response, Saul backed up, grabbing her hand and leading her forward. Myr's expression was one of shock, but she didn't fight it.

"I believe I still possess my titles. If I am wrong, please correct me. She comes with." Ser Gilmore didn't argue, though Saul did think he saw a hint of dissatisfaction.

"No matter. Fergus is likely with Chancellor Adrian in the council room. We'll check there first." Ser Gilmore smiled again. "It's good to have you back, my lord."

"It's...good to be back."

ooo

"Wait, Rayne." Turning, she saw Zevran had stopped, leaning against a wall while staring out from the road. They were in a noble district, and as such were elevated, allowing them both to see out over the rest of Denerim, bathed in the dying light from the sunset.. The assassin had a dark look on his face, one that disturbed Rayne, considering his usual jovial disposition.

"Why are you stopping? We need to report back to Adrian." She knew that Adrain would not be happy to learn of the failure, but they had to report it. There was no choice.

"I don't think that's wise." Rayne was taken aback What was Zevran saying?

"Explain yourself." Zevran's thought was too alien. How could he even think that way? "Failures need to reported honestly. If we march back with no soldiers and claim we succeeded, he'd know something was up."

"Not my point." Zevran slowly started walking towards him. His face seemed uncertain. The assassin was thinking hard. "I was wondering why the Irregulars knew of our location, where K, or whoever he called himself, lived. I think we were set up."

"I don't understand." Zevran was just spouting nonsense, he just had to be. "The Irregulars ambushed us, that's all. Sure, Taoran and R sprang the trap.."

"It can't be that simple, Rayne. How did they know where we were? We were on the private, personal business of the Acting Ruler of Denerim. Nobody but us two and Adrian knew where we were going. Not even the soldiers had that information." Rayne chuckled at that, still uncertain of Zevran's point. It just seemed like he was talking nonsense. "Adrian betrayed us. I think he wanted us dead."

Rayne stopped dead, her breath escaping her. No. That was impossible. Adrian loved her. It couldn't be...

"That makes no sense. Why would he want to kill you on your first job? And why would he want me dead? Me!" Rayne was shouting, grabbing Zevran's robe in anger. "How dare you speak that way of him!"

"I've been working for Adrian in secret for months now, nearly since the day the Archdemon died. I know more than anyone else of why he's searching for Vilhm Madon." Zevran just stared in her eye. "He'd want to kill me to hide information. You, as well."

"No. No... You're joking." But Zevran wasn't smiling. He was dead serious. "He'd never... never do that."

"Adrian has changed, Rayne. We both know it. He's no longer the same man who spared my life and saved you. I suspect he may not even be the same man who loved you." Rayne wanted him to stop talking. His words were too painful. As much as she didn't want to admit it, Zevran's words rang of truth. Adrian had changed. "He's made me do worse things than shake down peasants, Rayne. How do you think he got all his information?"

Rayne let go, tears welling up in her eyes. She didn't want to believe it. She couldn't... She had to keep faith in him. But it made too much sense. Zevran, as much as in pained her, was right.

ooo

"Commander Taoran." Ryal hung his head, knowing his news would not make the leader of the Irregulars happy. "Our prisoners have escaped, unfortunately."

When Ryal returned to the base, Taoran was standing in front of the fireplace in his office, on hand in a deep pocket of his silk gown. A glass of wine was held in the other, undoubtedly there to relax him in preparation of the news to come. Ryal had seen the infamous anger Taoran displayed, and he had no desire to see the full brunt of it.

Taoran didn't speak at first, but Ryal could see his grip tighten on the fragile wine glass. Ryal wasn't scared of the small man himself, but Taoran had power. If the commander decided to punish him, then Ryal could do nothing to stop it.

"Not only did they escape, but they know the location of this base. This will not create a good public image for the Irregulars." Taoran didn't turn around, still focusing intently on the fire. "We need a scapegoat, someone to take the blame for this incident. Not you, of course. You're too valuable. R assures me that the Crown will take no action against us, but the chance always remains that the public will think of us negatively. That isn't good for business."

Ryal had to admit he felt relief, but it didn't sit well with him. They'd blame an innocent man for the fault of his supposed betters, but that was life. Nothing was fair.

"I agree with your plan wholeheartedly, sir." Ryal kept his tone formal, hoping Taoran wouldn't sense his dissatisfaction. This was necessary for the Irregulars. Sacrifice one to save many.

"And next time..." Taoran turned, and Ryal could see the menace and anger in his commanders eyes. Despite being much larger than Taoran, Ryal actually felt nervous under that gaze. "You will not fail."

"Yes, commander."


	8. Reunions and Realizations

**Chapter 7: Reunions and Realizations**

_"I found out a long time ago you had to realize you were in this prison yourself, or you'd just revert back to being an ignorant dolt." She rolled her eyes as she led Adrian into the whiteness surrounding the campsite memory. "But now that I think I've broken you from that, I'm not sure what to do."_

_ Adrian could tell his daughter was nervous, and he had so many questions to ask. But where to start? And would she react negatively to him probing her for answers?_

_ "This memory is going to end soon, since I fucked around with it." The girl gripped Adrian's hand tight as she walked, eyes searching the white oblivion. "If you're still conscious and aware of what's going on after the memory changes, I think you're free of Mouse's trap. For now."_

_ "For now?" That didn't sound good._

_ "If Mouse finds out you got out of his trap, he'd probably try to cage you again." The girl looked back. She resembled her mother so much, even her attitude was similar, the same willful sarcasm and snide comments included. Yet she didn't appear to have the same distaste of Adrian that Morrigan seemed to possess. "Are you listening?"_

_ "Sorry. Why wouldn't Mouse know I'm free? I could feel when he was breaking out of the mental cages I stuck him in." All around Adrian was whiteness, nothingness. It was slightly disturbing to be walking around in it, considering he couldn't even feel the ground, but he couldn't let go of his daughter for fear of losing her in the mist. "And how did you get here? You're not born yet."_

_ "Enough with the questions! You try being stuck in here for hundreds of repetitions of the same questions and you'd grow tired of them too!" An expected answer. Adrian wasn't even surprised._

_ "Imagine what kind of position that leaves me in. I'm wandering blind, deaf and dumb to the events unfolding around me, and my one key to figuring everything out is woefully mute." Adrian tried to be persuasive, but he could tell she wasn't falling for it._

_ "Shut up, Father. The memory is changing."_

_ "Talk about mean..."_

_ Adrian stopped himself as the ground, if it could be called that, started shaking rapidly, violently. It took a moment before he realized the world around him was spinning, but he his only real clue was the camp in the distance rotating around him. The world in Mouse's mind, Adrian's mind, was changing._

_ The chaotic image of the campsite grew closer, separating and reforming. Whatever it was before had shifted, becoming darker, bloodier. When the scene finally came to a halt, Adrian and his daughter positioned inside it, Adrian could hardly believe what he saw._

_ It was a battlefield, one that had just been finished. Men in blood covered armor patrolled the scene, occasionally bending over to retrieve some bauble or weapon, or strip a dead enemy of armor. Groans pervaded among the field, and occasionally one was silenced by the winning side, their blades executing all who still survived the fight yet served the other side._

_ "This is one of Mouse's memories. He throws them in occasionally, just to mess with me. Most aren't particularly pleasant." The girl had let go of Adrians hand, walking forward, towards where a man in shining armor stood, one knee raised atop a fallen man's corpse, gazing at the bloody spectacle. "We can't interact with anything in these memories. Mouse seems to want us to see them as it is."_

_ The man in the shining armor took off his helm, shaking his long, golden hair, face covered in sweat, beaming widely. Adrian recognized him somehow. A man named Alaric. A Warrior-General of the Tevinter Imperium._

_ "And this would never have happened if not for you, Harach." A mage slowly sauntered up behind Alaric, his face a bit more somber as he gazed at the brutal spectacle before him._

_ "As I had told you, the Juggernaut Armor is invincible." Harach wasn't smiling, however. He just stared at the battlefield. "The Archon is very pleased of your recent victories, as are many of the higher level magisters. I've even been given renown, as your armor has become the jewel in the eyes of every nobleman on Thedas."_

_ "Hah! But I am invincible. The Clayne will fall soon, and I shall return home a conquering hero!"_

_ "Just be careful not to lose yourself on the way, Alaric." Harach turned away, heading back to what Adrian supposed was the main encampment for their army. Alaric remained, basking in the glory of his victory. Eventually he started laughing, a mad cackle that enveloped the scene. None of the soldiers picking amongst the dead noticed, or cared, too busy were they taking pleasure in their victory, stealing from the bodies of the dead._

_ Adrian and his daughter stared at the spectacle silently, neither speaking or commenting on the brutality they witnessed. These were Mouse's memories, and they seemed to harbor a dark tale indeed._

_ "General Alaric was invincible in battle when he wore the Juggernaut suit. The Clayne feared him, his men admired him, the magisters viewed him a hero." Adrian's daughter took a few steps forward, squatting to take a look at a dying soldier, one who was unfortunate enough to be on the losing side. "He won sweeping victories over the barbarians of South Ferelden, establishing mighty forts, embodying the cliché image of a brilliant white knight in shining armor, coming to save the day, at least to the Tevinters. To the Clayne, he was a tyrannical conqueror, hellbent on their destruction."_

_ She lay a hand on the dying man's head, though Adrian knew he would not feel it. He understood how the memory worked. It was like gazing at a picture or reading a book. You can lose yourself in it, but you cannot change it. This man would not feel the comfort of a warm, gentle hand on his face, and he would die in fearful agony._

_ "What happened to Alaric?" _

_ "You'll find out eventually." The girl started walking to another dying man, this time one of Alaric's own soldiers. Instead of being kicked, or having dirt thrown upon, Alaric's soldiers were actually helping this man onto a makeshift cloth bed, ready to be carried to the camp to receive medical attention. "To the victors goes the spoils, I guess. Damn it all, I'm sounding like Mother."_

_ Adrian followed her silently as she made her way from body to body. There seemed to be no method to her chaotic route, apparently just randomly picking men to inspect. She didn't do it expressionlessly, though. She had tears in her eyes at the tragic spectacle._

_ "War is not a game, Adrian. It's brutal, bloody and terrifying. The soldiers cheer because they are afraid. They place their hopes in small, prideful men like Alaric because he promises them victory, and because he somehow provides it." His daughter looked up at Alaric, who stopped laughing, instead occupying his time by seeking out enemy soldiers who were still alive... and executing them._

_ "Many people forget that." Adrian walked up to her as he spoke, laying a hand on her shoulder. He noted grimly that the blood did not pool at his feet when he stepped, his footsteps made no noise. "They assume battles are filled with nothing but glory and victory. Wars are easy to support when you're far from the conflict itself."_

_ "Men have died denying that. People have killed defending that illusion. Men like Alaric reveled in that, protected by perceived invincibility." She stood, brushing some imaginary dirt off her black dress, if only to retain composure. "Mouse included."_

_ And now the questions were back in Adrian's head. Despite how he knew his daughter hated doing providing them, Adrian needed answers._

_ "What exactly is Mouse?"_

_ "A Pride demon." She just looked at him, the incredulous positioning of her eyebrows questioning both Adrian's powers of observation and his level of intelligence. "The one Harach draws power from. Magisters and demons went hand in hand in these days. Mouse was one of many."_

_ "But the Imperium didn't last forever. Mouse found himself without a job somewhere along the line. How did he end up in the Circle of Magi?" Adrian did a quick, circular look of the carnage around him. Something wasn't adding up. "What happened to Harach? And Alaric? And the Imperium's presence in Ferelden?"_

_ "You'll find out soon enough." The scene started shifting again, and Adrian's neck hairs started standing on end. Whatever was coming next, Adrian somehow knew it would be even worse. Many times worse._

_ The first thing he heard was a familiar, maniacal laughter. And the screaming._

ooo

"Adrian has...changed. But that doesn't mean he tried to kill us, kill me!" Rayne's tears were freely flowing now. Zevran had an odd look on her face. It wasn't one of pity, or one of snide dominance. It was of simple acceptance. "Maybe... maybe he had a plan in mind, or perhaps he never planned on us getting captured, or... or..."

"You're rationalizing it, Rayne."

"And you're dismissing him as a traitor too easily!" Rayne was shouting now. "Like you can even talk! You turned on me and Adrian, you attacked us and left us for dead!"

Zevran didn't speak, instead sighing and leaning against the wall again. Rayne knew that Zevran's actions were within his nature. Hell, it was even expected of him. For Adrian... Adrian couldn't operate on the same standards. Could he?

"The man you once knew was softhearted and guilt-ridden. I don't know how this changed, but I can see through the orders he's given me that he has become a monster." Zevran stared at the sunset while Rayne struggled to keep her anger in check. "He... sent me on a mission to kill children, once. Even for an assassin, that is deplorable. Every time I received orders I had to justify it, either by sleeping with the female targets I was given, or by explaining it away using the vast monetary compensation."

"You lie!" Zevran flinched, but he turned in anger.

"And you're blind to the truth! If even I, a self-proclaimed amoral prick, can see this, then maybe it's worth considering." Zevran paused himself, and Rayne knew he was keeping his emotions in check. When he continued, it was quieter. "I am a Crow. I know the business of deception. He used me to kill individuals who knew too much, or those who threatened his power. Are those the actions of an honorable man? Would a good man even hire an assassin?"

"I don't see why you care." Rayne narrowed her eyes.

"I don't care about you, or about Adrian. I care about my life." Zevran slouched. "And if we have the chancellor against us, good lucking getting out alive. He's smart, and that's no lie. Likely he already knows we're alive and is plotting a countermeasure."

His words made Rayne pause. It was true. It all made sense. The murders, the shakedowns, the frantic search for Vilhm Madon, whoever he was. Everything. Even if Zevran was lying, the Adrian she knew wouldn't send her on missions to kill innocent peasants.

"I want to hear it from him."

"What?" Zevran cocked an eyebrow, confusion written in every feature of his body.

"I know it sounds irrational, and that I'm simply distraught but... I want to hear it from Adrian himself." Rayne started walking away. "If Adrian really has betrayed me, then I want to hear him say it to me. I want proof. Visible proof."

"Hey! Wait!" Rayne could hear Zevran catch up, and then he popped up in her peripheral vision.

"You don't need to come with. You're an Antivan Crow, the leader, even. There's no need to get involved." Rayne narrowed her eyes as she looked at Zevran. Gone was the dark, troubled expression, replaced by the simple jovial smirk that was his usual. "You said yourself you didn't care."

"Not caring and not being involved are two very different things, my dear." Zevran said, matching paces with Rayne. "I may not personally hold any sort of reverence for you and Adrian, but our fates are quite inseparable at this point. No. I will see this through to its conclusion."

"You owe me nothing. You need not come." Rayne dismissed his comments with a swift turn away. Zevran stopped, as did she. "You're just a crow."

"But can I abandon a pretty lady in distress?" Zevran grinned slyly, his hands running down the silk robe he still wore. "Besides, I need you. Two people are more likely to survive than one, and I'd be happy for beautiful company."

Rayne just turned away, waving her hand, giving the libido-driven elf clearance to follow. He seemed all too eager to help her, though Rayne worried if it was only for all the wrong reasons.

ooo

"R." Ryal approached the hooded figure cautiously. The older man turned at hearing his nickname, the usual curious expression betrayed, despite how most of his face was covered in the green hood.

"Captain Ryal." R bowed. "What an honor."

"Me an' my boys have been wondering 'bout some o' the policies you an' Taoran have been puttin' together." Ryal kept his voice low. If a snitch for Taoran happened to overhear, he may mistake it as mutinous. Ryal had no desire to hang for a misunderstanding. "What're you an' him tryin' to accomplish, anyways? Those elves hadn't done nothing, you know that. They didn't know nothin' and you knew it. Why'd you allow Taoran to go through with it?"

"A necessary evil, for the good of our organization." Ryal didn't buy it. R was a newcomer, so why did he have a position as a top adviser, the only adviser, to Taoran? "I may not have enjoyed it, but Taoran is our leader. He knows best.

"Well, the Irregulars ain't always been this way. We were honorable once, back when Raelnor was alive." Ryal hoped R didn't report everything that was said back to Taoran, but these were things that had to be mentioned. "Now we kidnap elves an' kill soldiers."

R sighed visibly, despite his hood. Ryal never knew how to react around R, and didn't know much about him. What he did know that he worked for K and D's criminal carta as an informant before joining the Irregulars. If the rumors were true, he had dozens of nobles in his pocket. But how dangerous or amoral was he?

"You know as well as I do that personal feelings should not be applied in business." Ryal somehow knew R was staring at him, despite the hood. "The real world is not happy-go-lucky. Prices are paid. People are trampled upon. But without unhappiness and sadness, there cannot be joy for others."

"I've never thought o' it that way, R. But I'm still not convinced." Ryal wanted some sort of justification for the actions of the Irregulars. R wasn't giving Ryal the answers he wanted. "Yer sounding like Qunari when you speak like that."

"I spent some time in Par Vollen, yes. Not many humans can have that luxury." R grinned. "Not many would even survive the trip."

"We're humans, not Qunari. They may choose to follow their false religion o' the Qun, but that holds no sway o'er me."

"To so readily dismiss the teachings of others invites ignorance, Ryal." The Captain wasn't sure where R was going with this. "Sometimes, to make truly difficult decisions, we have to look beyond our own petty, insignificant lives, to the teachings of a great many, rather than the select few."

"Yer spoutin' nonsense, mage." Ryal could feel himself quickly becoming frustrated. "What does this have anythin' to do with my question?"

"I am simply recommending that you not be so quick to judge others with a steadfast, morally righteous standpoint. Not every situation you come across in life is black and white, as I would have expected you to learn by now, Ryal. You are a mercenary captain, after all." R turned away slightly, gesturing to the hallway on the other side of the lounge area. "Forgive me, Captain, but I have an errand to run for our Illustrious Commander. Taoran will not be forgiving if I am late."

"Right, er, R." Ryal saluted, as was customary for politeness within the Irregulars. "Carry on."

R nodded, continuing on his way. The conversation left Ryal feeling uncertain about what was going on. Taoran had yet to choose who would be a scapegoat for the incident with the elves, and the commander was still peeved about losing one of his favourite robes, as well as the failure to recapture the two escapees. And R was just as cryptic as he always was, never providing Ryal with a straight answer...

"Oh, and Ryal." The Captain looked up, to see R staring back at him. In the shadow of the candlelight behind him, the green hooded man seemed almost... demonic. "I would not advise making your doubts vocal. Even your respected position and your esteemed friendship with Raelnor, may he rest in peace, will not save you from the suspicions of powerful, prideful men."

Ryal just nodded dumbly as R continued on his way. Had he just been threatened?

ooo

Ser Gilmore was mostly silent as he led the two into the palace. A few guards approached, wondering why Ser Gilmore had left his post, giving a tour to two unknown people. When they were told of Saul Cousland's return, they mostly were shocked, then ran off to gossip with the other guardsmen.

Eventually, after a series of long, winding hallways, Ser Gilmore paused at a large, ornate door. Breathing in, he pushed it open.

"Believe me, my lord, when I say I'm certain Amaranthine will need more than just an Orlesian to help it in these dark times." The voice was unfamiliar, but Myr recognized the accent. An Orlesian was speaking. Odd, considering the load of anti-Orlesian sentiment in recent years. How could one get such a high office as to be speaking in the Council Chamber? "My sentiments can be echoed by the companions I brought, especially Nat-"

"Darius, I understand your plight, but my house cannot supply any more men." An older voice, one of command, gentle yet firm. "We are hard pressed as-"

"My lord!" Ser Gilmore snapped to attention as he spoke, drawing the gazes of the three men in the room. One was a beat up young man with red eyes and a heavy gaze. The second was what seemed like an older, shaven version of Saul, with much shorter hair. Myr suspected he was Fergus. The third was, as expected, an Orlesian, though he seemed older, like he was in his forties.

"Gilmore? Why are you interrupting our meeting? This is important business." The older version of Saul spoke wearily. Fergus didn't seem to be very happy, but Saul's expression instantly changed from disbelieving to – dare she say – happy?

"Fergus..." Saul took a hesitant step forward. "It's me, Saul. I'm alive."

The room fell completely silent, and Myr was suddenly uncertain of how Fergus would react. A drastic thought entered her head then. What if he denied Saul? The worry turned out to be unfounded, as Fergus stood, shocked expression on his face.

"Little brother...?" Fergus took a short step forward, arms raised just slightly.

"Well, I'll leave you both to it. Darius, we'll continue this conversation later." The red eyed man stood, walking outside, Darius following shortly behind. Suddenly feeling like she was intruding, Myr followed them as well. Gilmore was the last to leave, shutting the door behind him after they all left.

Myr wasn't what she could do now that she was back in the hallway. On either side of her the hallway branched out, lined with a fancy red carpet, marble statues every couple of yards. Darius was already walking away. Ser Gilmore leaned against a wall some ten feet away, large smile on his face. The red eyed man was walking away as well, in the opposite direction of Darius.

Wait. Was that the Hero of Ferelden? Overcome with curiosity, Myr wanted to follow, to talk somewhat with him. He was supposedly the man who slew the Archdemon, after all! He didn't look like much, though. Myr recalled how heroic the descriptions of him made the mage out to be, how his simple presence would make quibbling Bann's fall silent. Guess they were just exaggerations.

Though she was hesitant, kept in place by her duty to Saul, Myr gave in chasing after the Chancellor. She could hardly believe it! She was going to personally talk with the Hero of Ferelden! She ran, but tried to keep quiet. Still, Adrian turned at the last second, grabbing her arm and twisting it, slamming her back-first into the side wall.

Scared and startled, Myr yelped in surprise, and when she thudded to a stop, found herself staring in the depths of depravity. His red eyes were terrifying, and profoundly empty. It was like staring into a bottomless crater. Suddenly she understood why so many people labeled him as terrifying. You just needed to get close enough to be stared at to appreciate the depths of his power.

"Intriguing that you'd choose to chase after me instead of waiting for your friend, but not particularly noteworthy. Better men have done more in less time in other places in history." Adrian spoke calmly, slowly. Myr found her breath caught, words couldn't come. "Tell me, girl. What is the purpose in interrupting me?"

Myr wanted to say 'Interrupt what?' and add some sardonic, sarcastic witticism, but she couldn't speak. Adrians eyes bore into her, reaching into her consciousness, her soul.

But suddenly he broke away, staring down the hallway as if in response to some distant sound. He only slowly turned back to face Myr, and when he did, she thought she saw a hint of worry on his emotionally detached face.

"Excuse me, girl." And suddenly he was walking away, swiftly rounding a corner. He was gone. Myr collapsed to the floor, breathing heavily, somehow relieved. It took her many minutes to find the strength to stand. Even as she started walking back to the Council Chamber, she found herself glancing over her shoulder, fearful that Adrian would appear again.

ooo

"Little Brother...where have you been in the last year?" Fergus approached slowly, laying his hands on Saul's shoulders, afraid that he'd just disappear, struggling to affirm the reality that Saul was not simply an ethereal representation of a long abandoned dream.

"I could ask the same of you, Fergus." Saul wasn't sure what to say now that he was back in his brother's presence. "I've spent the year in hiding, running from all of civilization."

"Hah! That's the brother I know!" Fergus smiled, finally regaining composure, drawing Saul in a deep, brotherly bear hug. They held the position for a moment, Saul realizing the extreme amount of time it had been since the last moment he was with family. So much had happened since that fateful day... Eventually they broke, but Fergus kept a hand on Saul's shoulder. "Not even that traitor Renden Howe could hold you down!"

"No Howe can best me." Saul could feel the corners of his mouth rising, a near-smile. The closest he'd gotten to one in too long of a time. "How did you survive Ostagar?"

"My scouting unit was ambushed by darkspawn, shortly before the devastating battle itself. The Chasind took me in when I was injured. I was the only survivor, and I was lucky." Saul could see Fergus' face darken as he summoned the unpleasant memories. "I was heavily injured and barely alive. If not for their witch doctor and his strange medicinal practices, I'd likely be dead and rotting in the Blight lands by now. Or worse."

"Chasind barbarians saved you?" Saul knew Fergus had a way with people, but to think a tribe of savages would be swayed by his charms was quite something else. "So you spent a year in wild lands, just as I did?"

"I'm not sure. What happened to you? Obviously you escaped the castle, Ser Gilmore told me as much."

"I spent a year hunting down soldiers from Howe's army, running about the south-west of Ferelden seeking revenge where I could. I stopped caring about my appearances, as you can see." Saul ran a hand through his dirty locks, which reached well past his ears, almost to his shoulders. "I killed many of Howe's men, but I didn't see any purpose in living. I just let go, becoming an exile from Ferelden, caring little for civilization."

"How'd you keep away from the darkspawn, little brother?"

"I killed them." Fergus was somewhat taken aback, but he just started to laugh.

"Haha! That's the brother I know! Ever accurate with that bow of yours." Fergus clapped him on the shoulder again. "It's good to see you, brother. It truly is, especially since I had thought all the rest of my family dead."

"It's good to be back. And I know the feeling." Saul smiled mirthfully. The first smile in over a year. So caught up in emotion that he was, Saul could feel tears rimming his eyelids. Fergus only smiled softly.

"Maybe we should return to Highever, if you want. I can take a small break from my duties in Denerim for that." Fergus was hesitant when he spoke, understandably so. "Of course, there are many personal demons to face in that place. It won't be an easy trip, but I think that both of us can benefit from it."

"You haven't been back there yet, have you?" Fergus shook his head.

"I had workers start repairing any damage to the place, as well as have someone run the remaining Howe soldiers from there. For now, it's just an empty old keep. We can change that, brother." Fergus hugged Saul again, overcome with emotion. "I'm certain... it'll be a worthwhile journey. Rendon's foul presence has been forever ousted from that place, but it won't be complete until a Cousland reclaims it."

Saul suddenly felt uneasy. Another question gnawed at the back of his head. He needed to know this, if only to reach some semblance of closure.

"Tell me. How did Rendon die?"

"Like a dog, as he deserved. Chancellor Amell impaled him on against a wall in his bedroom, and then collapsed the estate around him. The corpse was near unrecognizable." Fergus gripped. "He got what was coming to him in the end."

"But not all Howes have." Saul felt himself slipping back into seriousness, the familiar odium of the year past. "Now that I know you're alive, we can take action! With your titles restored, we can easily bring the remaining Howes to justice for their crimes!"

"Crimes?" Fergus took a step back, his gaze incredulous. "Saul, Rendon was the only one responsible for the deaths of our family. His wife and children had nothing to do with it. As far as I know, Thomas and his wife are dead anyway. And you'd never harm Delilah!"

"Fergus..." Saul couldn't believe what he was hearing. He had fully expected Fergus to give him his complete support! "They murdered your wife and son! The bastards took Mother and Father too!"

"Again, Saul. It wasn't 'they' who committed those crimes. It was Rendon's alone. His children had nothing to do with it." Fergus crossed his arms. "And why should you be so hellbent on revenge anyway? You just need to relax, live your life again, like how it used to be."

"It can't be how it used to!" Saul was surprised by his own explosive reaction, but he didn't stop himself. "The Howe's took that away from us! I was there! I saw the slashed and mutilated corpses of Oren and Orianna! I saw Nan lying in a pool of her own blood. I saw Iona with an arrow through her heart! I saw Mother, stabbed in her sleep, and Father dying in the cellars!"

Fergus waited for Saul to stop yelling before speaking again.

"Saul, I know you lived through something tragic. I understand. But revenge isn't-"

"No. You don't understand. Revenge IS the way, Fergus! They deserve to die like the dogs they are! Every one of them!" Saul waited a moment, staring at the shocked expression on his brother's face. It was hurt, surely, but Saul only felt anger again. Whatever relief he felt at the reunion was gone now, replaced by the familiar rage, the anger. The lust for his justified vengeance.

"Brother..."

"Don't 'brother' me, Fergus. I know what is right." Saul stared intensely before stalking to the door. Fergus had looked at his back with an exasperated expression. "I will not be denied!"

Saul slammed the door to the council chamber, grabbing Myr's hand and leading her away before Ser Gilmore could react. Saul knew this meeting with Fergus had been fruitless. To him, it was now only a slight detour on his quest for revenge. It would continue. Nathaniel and Delilah would die.

The time had come to leave Denerim.


	9. Consequences

**Chapter 8: Consequences**

_"Maker..." Adrian gazed at the slaughter before him, the bodies littering the ground of the fort, surrounded by a ring of soldiers, cheering men, one and all. A group of executioners stood by the bodies, evidence of what had just happened._

_ Alaric stood on a raised platform atop a set of stairs, his soldiers gazing up from the ground below. He was suited in the Juggernaut armor, but it seemed to be surrounded in an aura of darkness, of blood. The bodies were lined against the wall, each mutilated beyond recognition. Adrian could see the executioners wiping the blood from their weapons, grim expressions painting their faces._

_ "And this is what happens to those that oppose the Imperium!" Alaric maintained a happy expression as he spoke, almost giddy at what he witnessed. "The Clayne has been pushed back, far beyond what they used to claim was theirs. In truth, this land, and all of Thedas, are only for the Archon!"_

_ Cheers erupted from the crowd; Alaric raised his hands, smiling wickedly. It was a scene out of a nightmare, a terrifying visage of brutality and death. If Adrian wasn't so used to carnage already, he might have vomited. He just stared._

_ "Magister Harach gave us the blessing of the Archon before he left for the North, and I intend to act upon this! The Clayne, and all the vicious barbarians of the south, shall be wiped out! We, as their betters, shall take their places!" Cheers. Alaric continued. "Our victory is not yet achieved until every enemy, man, woman and child lies dead! Their deserved fate shall come swiftly and without mercy! Join me, my soldiers! We shall end this war, once and for all!"_

_ Violent, bloodthirsty cheers roared throughout the keep. Alaric left the podium, followed swiftly by his multiple lieutenants. Adrian just stood in shock as the crowd continued cheering, their shouts and praises filling the blackened sky. Soon, the executioners started loading the bodies of the prisoners in piles, burning them. _

_ Adrian could see the bloody faces of small children mixed among the adult men and women. They had died slowly, brutally, and now their corpses were buried without so much as a eulogy, or even a single thought to spare on them._

_ "This is..." Adrian couldn't finish the sentence, so shocked was he. His daughter merely looked on, her face displaying the distance from the brutality she saw. Adrian realized with a shock that she had likely witnessed this scene before. How had she reacted the first time?_

_ "When Harach left, Mouse stayed behind at Harach's suggestion. The Magister had meant for the demon to allow communication between the two men, so that their tactics could be shared with ease." Adrian heard no emotion in her voice. "Harach forbade the demon from inhabiting Alaric's body, so Mouse did the second best thing. He possessed his armor."_

_ "The Juggernaut Armor?" It made sense. It had been enchanted with blood magic, and so it could theoretically be possessed... "And Mouse used that to control Alaric?"_

_ "No." The reply was short and terse. She started walking forward, towards the crowd of people standing in front of the elevated area. She simply fazed through the people if they got in her way. Adrian followed hesitantly. "Mouse simply fueled the primal desires of General Alaric. He slowly twisted the man using promises of power and glory... and fulfilling them. Alaric lived for every word of that grand manipulator. He fed off Mouse's approval. Every suggestion was godlike, unquestionable. He ate it all up willing. And he did this."_

_ "And what happened?" The girl didn't respond, still moving forward. When she came to the stairs, she hesitated, quickly glancing about. "What is it?"_

_ "If my memory serves, tonight is the night." Confused, Adrian said nothing. "The tale of the Juggernaut Armor is a cursed one. A tragic one. It was a legendary suit of armor, a grand prize all wished to obtain. Its fame was known across Thedas."_

_ "Well, yes. It was supposedly invincible..."_

_ "The war chief of the Clayne wanted it as well, and he'd do anything to obtain it. But he wasn't the only one." She continued up the stairs, fazing through the soldiers guarding the way. As expected, they didn't react to Adrian or her presence, just guarding the line. "The jealous ones weren't only the barbarians."_

_ Adrian felt ill at ease as he walked. He was invisible, intangible, yet he was spying upon memories. These men had no idea that years in the future they'd be judged by unseen observers. In a way, Adrian felt like he was an intruder, even though he knew he was within his own mind._

_ They climbed the stairs, following where Alaric had disappeared into the fort. Adrian and his daughter were silent, an odd effect of being in the dark, as candlelight was sparse inside the building. They could hear talking up ahead, and then the sound of running water. Subconsciously, Adrian held his breath. His daughter didn't seem to care._

_ "Hah! And then Jerich rammed the chieftain, breaking his nose with his shield and spearing his lieutenant all in one fell swoop!"_

_ "But that was nothing compared to what you had done, General Alaric! Your fearless charge into the head of their horde, swinging and raining death upon our foes. It was spectacular!"_

_ "You're too kind, Keith. But I couldn't have won the day without the help of my trustworthy lieutenants. I'd want you men at my side more than any other. Wench! Another round for my men!"_

_ Adrian and his daughter walked through a door where the sounds were coming from, into a brightly lit bathing room. Alaric lay in a pool of steaming water, drinking and laughing with a few other__ men. Scantily clad serving girls quickly moved back and forth, serving drinks to the reminiscing men._

_ "General Alaric, I have a present for you, as a sign of your most recent, splendorous victory." A lieutenant, the one named Jerich, spoke, a grin on his face. "It's an wine that was handpicked from the finest vineyards of North Tevinter. It's the best of the best of alcohol, captain. Just shipping such a fine elixir was phenomenally expensive, but it was well worth it." The smile widened. "Well worth it indeed."_

_ Adrian felt uncomfortable, as the grin seemed rather strange. None of the other lieutenants seemed to notice and the serving girls worked as before. General Alaric was still smiling, oblivious._

_ "Of course! Wench! Bring it here! We'll all drink some, as celebration to our victory!" The grin on Jerich dripped slightly, but it was barely perceptible. He didn't say anything. _

_ The men continued laughing and shouting, groping and harassing the serving women until the wine was brought back in glasses on a fancy silver platter. There were glasses for all the commanders, filled to the brim with the fine wine. Each man took theirs and lifted for a toast._

_ "For the Archon! And the Tevinter Imperium! And for the full purses and merry lives for all of us!" Groping a serving girl at the same time, Alaric raised the glass to his lips, downing it in one gulp. After this, each serving girl swiftly left, closing the doors behind them._

_ Adrian noticed none of the other men followed suit, each simply holding the glasses to their lips. Jerich was smiling still._

_ "C'mon men, drink up!" Alaric didn't seem to notice any odd, but Adrian did. "Why aren't any of you drinking? It tastes brillia-"_

_ General Alaric stopped, his face freezing up, body starting to shudder. The other men swiftly got out of the pool, dark, yet happy looks on their faces. Jerich was the only man who remained inside, maneuvering himself next to the shaking General, his face going red._

_ "P-P-P-"_

_ "Come now, General. Don't speak with your mouth full." Jerich and the other men laughed evilly. Adrian knew full well what they had done._

_ "Poison..." Alaric slumped over, dead. Adrian recoiled in shock at the brutality of it all. Even the serving girls had to have been in on the scheme._

_ "Oh, how the mighty have fallen!" Adrian noticed his daughter was mouthing the words to the spectacle as she gazed at the scene, silent. Her eyes were cold, unfeeling. "Come, men. Let us collect our spoils."_

_ "Who gets the armor?"_

_ "I do!"_

_ "No, I! I supplied the poison!"_

_ The memory started to fade away as the men started bickering, but Adrian could see Jerich quickly moving towards an ornamental sword hanging from a wall. Any man could figure out what was to happen next. Shaking and swirling, the scene faded, leaving Adrian and his daughter alone in the whiteness as they waited for the next scene to appear._

_ "Alaric's hubris allowed him to let his guard down. And he paid the price for it." Adrian's daughter just stared out at the nothingness. Adrian laid a hand on her shoulder, hoping to brighten her mood. "So driven by pride was he that he believed himself invincible, even without the armor. He thought himself a god and as such was blinded to events around him. He died, confused, terrified and betrayed. For nothing."_

_ She walked a slight bit forward before pivoting, turning towards Adrian. She never seemed very happy, and Adrian was starting to see why. Being trapped in these memories, forced to watch terrible, frightening scenes for hundreds of repetitions would wear on a person's psyche, even one with such a powerful will as her._

_ "Are you going to die for nothing as well, Father?" The question struck Adrian off guard. He had never thought of something like that before. "Are you going to allow yourself to fade away into oblivion; a failed attempt at a worthwhile existence?"_

_ "As long as you're here, that won't happen." Adrian smiled. His daughter's expression softened slightly, but her demeanor still appeared harsh._

_ "I can only hope."_

ooo

"Hey... Saul! Wait a moment! What are you...?" Myr found herself dragged along by the relentless man as he searched for a the shortest route out of the palace. None of the guards stopped them, but Saul seemed incredibly angry. "Saul! Hey! Calm down!"

It was no use. He wouldn't stop. Myr found she could barely keep her footing as she frantically tried to keep her balance, so put off by his rampaging was she. What happened to him? Shouldn't he be happy to have found his brother again after what had happened?

She tried to talk to him as she was forced along, but was met with gruff rejection at every turn. His eyes were cold, empty. They reminded her of Adrian somehow, except the object of his brutality was directed at some unseen force rather than Myr.

A few guards saluted, swords raised, as they passed. Obviously word that Saul was the only other survivor of the tragedy of Highever Castle was passing swiftly through their ranks. Nobody attempted to stop them, despite the oddity of the pair. An angered, tall and very disheveled man dressed in leather armor forcing along an albino elven girl as he stormed through hallways, giving no thought to his surroundings, would undoubtedly not be an easy thing to want to hinder.

The two exited the palace, storming through the gates and out into the streets. Myr tried to dissuade him, but was met with no success. When it finally seemed like she had no hope of stopping him, Saul just stopped. They were in an alleyway somewhere south of the Market District, one of the darker, seedier ones.

"Saul..." Myr kept his hand in hers as she walked in front of him. She had expected to see him crying, or displaying some other sort of emotion. Myr reprimanded herself for not knowing better. His face was blank. "Saul, what happened?"

Myr knew this wasn't the best location to be stopping, as there was more than one diseased vagrant in the alleyway, but who was she to force Saul to move?

"I'm not going to see my brother again for a long time." Saul didn't change his tone when he spoke, only confusing Myr more.

"Why?"

"Because my job isn't done yet. I'm going to Amaranthine." Talk about vague. Myr sighed, laying a hand on Saul's cheek, trying to comfort him.

"What's waiting for you there, Saul?" Myr kept her gaze level with his eyes, struggling to discern some sort of meaning behind his actions.

In a way it felt awfully intimate, trying to discover the feelings of an unreadable man, his head cupped in her hand. She was conscious of how close they were standing, but kept her mind off of it. That wasn't what she was trying to accomplish.

"With any luck, nothing." Saul didn't back away from her gaze.

He was no coward, Myr would give him that. No matter the situation, even this, he never ran away. When Saul saved her from the templars he risked life, limb and honor; he committed a crime to save her and didn't even expect thanks. Despite his distance, he never even seemed to give a thought to hurting Myr. When they were found at their campsite he was fully prepared to die for her. A lesser man wouldn't have sheltered an apostate and definitely wouldn't have hid her from the templars after finding that out.

"Take me with you." Finally, a change of expression. A flare of surprise, and gone just as quickly. Despite how minute the reaction, it definitely was there. However traumatized Saul may have been, he was still human underneath.

"What? Your life will be in danger, perhaps constantly." His face was slightly more serious now, but his tone was protective. Or was Myr imagining that?

"So?" Saul opened his mouth but didn't respond right away. Myr spoke first. "My life is in even more danger when I'm not with you. The templars are still after me, or have you forgotten?"

Myr smiled at him, if for nothing else to lighten the heavy mood. Saul didn't speak right away, but when he did, his voice had finally softened slightly. He relaxed, ever so slightly.

"It wouldn't be fair to you if you didn't know my purpose." Saul's face was still serious, but his eyes betrayed a hint of worry. "I can't expect you to still want to come with me after finding out why I've been in exile, why I rushed us out of the palace."

"Try me." Myr knew her haphazard confidence had worn through. Saul sighed, finally seeming to let down his guard. It took a long while before he spoke.

"Fine." Saul glanced about, searching for any sign of eavesdroppers or, on a more morbid note, potential threats. Myr let go of Saul's face, smiling. "But I'd rather we didn't linger too long in such an...unpleasant locale. I have a room at the Gnawed Noble Tavern. We can talk more there."

"Lead on."

ooo

"Perhaps it is best if we did not waltz through the front door, open for every wayward soul to notice our presence." Zevran's tone was sarcastic, but Rayne let it pass. No need to get angry over trivial things. Adrian was more important. "If Adrian wanted us dead, he likely wouldn't want us to get to him very easily."

"I refuse to believe he wants to kill me."

"So you'd like to end up a corpse?" Rayne paused. Zevran was being more rational than she. If they sneaked in the palace there would be less to lose, after all. They could gain nothing and lose nothing, or they could gain nothing and lose it all. It was her choice, and Rayne was no fool.

"Fine." Rayne raised her hands, defeated. "But I know not any sort of secretive route into the palace."

"That's where I come in, my beauteous yet tragically flawed companion." Zevran smirked, walking away, back to the riverside. "Come! Heh. As if you'd do that on command."

Rayne felt like slapping him, but held her composure. They needed to work together. They needed to work together... but no matter how many times she told herself that, the assassin still wore on her tolerance. Rayne knew she wasn't much of an accepting, flexible person, but one should only be allowed to take so much.

She followed him down alleyways, skirting by smithys, through the backs of shops, atop walls of noble estates and even once through a brothel doing a poor job looking inconspicuous. Rayne suspected Zevran only took a route through there for the hell of it, but he got the two of them to their destination easily enough.

They stood at a massive sewage tunnel located just feet above the mighty Drakon river. A foul stench pervaded the place and Rayne found she was holding her tunic over her nose. Zevran didn't notice, immediately blazing a path into the dark confines of the tunnel, still smiling, mouth open to the foulness of the air.

"You expect me to walk through this... this... filth?" Suddenly, facing the danger of being pounced by guards under Adrian's orders seemed like less of a poor idea.

"Would you rather be dead than smell bad?" Zevran smiled back at her before disappearing into the darkness. "Ooh~ Just like leather!"

"Obviously you know little of women..." Rayne trudged along after him, careful to keep the hem of her dress above the sewage line. Thankfully it was only and inch or so, but that wouldn't save her shoes. Or her pants.

They walked in silence most of the way. Zevran had pulled out some sort of jewel that gave off an aura of light, allowing the two to see faintly. Other than that, it was next to nothing. Elves had sharper vision than humans, but even that did little good in the darkness of the tunnel. And Maker... what if there was an earthquake...?

"It's just a little bit ahead, my sweet." That was the third time he'd said that. The last time was over twenty minutes ago. Rayne didn't bother responding, as she didn't want to let any of the fetid air into her lungs.

Fortunately, Zevran actually proved to be telling the truth this time, as he stopped at an antiquated ladder leading up into the darkness overhead.

"Here we are." Rayne saw the assassin grin in the dim light, placing a hand on the ladder. "This sturdy beast will put us in the wine cellars. And they wonder why there's always the smell of shit and carcasses there!"

He put a little bit of weight on the ladder, it creaked and shuddered in response. Hardly stable. Rayne rolled her eyes. This certainly was an attractive situation. She was stuck in the dark of a decrepit sewage tunnel with a lecherous elf; the only ways out being either stumbling through the dark to get back the way she came or climbing a shoddy ladder could break at any moment, sending her back onto the grimy floor.

Zevran went first, the ladder croaking and protesting the weight every time foot met rung. When he got to the top Rayne heard a swear, then a shower of dirt and dust fell, narrowly missing Rayne. That would be the door out of this nasty place.

Rayne climbed, slower even than Zevran, afraid at every moment the ladder would fall apart. Luckily it didn't and Rayne found herself being helped out, pulled into the pitch blackness of the wine cellar. The smell was bad here, but not nearly as much as before.

"That was quite the enjoyable journey, no?"

"Must you always be so positive? It's getting old." Rayne stood, brushing herself off. Zevran stood as well, shutting the trap door that led down into the sewers.

"What can I say? I'm an eternal optimist."

"So I've heard."

The two elves groped their way through the aisles of wine barrels. Zevran eventually found the door out and, luckily, the door was atop stairs, not a shabby ladder. Zevran scampered up first, opening the door wide for Rayne.

"Ladies first, my dear." Zevran made some grand gesture with his arms. Rayne wasn't impressed.

The two exited, and Rayne found herself in a familiar corner of the palace. They were near the kitchens, some two levels below Adrian's quarters. It was a quick five minute walk from there, if memory served.

"We should be careful." Rayne glared at Zevran after he finished speaking, closing the door to the smelly cellar.

"If you truly were an optimist you'd want us to brazenly march to Adrian, trumpets sounding and all." Rayne started off down the hall. There were no guards in sight, so it was okay for now.

"Haha! Good point. But optimism gets you nowhere if it gets you killed."

They walked up the first set of stairs, looking as inconspicuous as possible. A few elven maids passed, as well as one guard. Though Rayne became nervous at the sight of them, they passed with only quizzical looks. She thought she heard one maid mention how much they reeked. None of them recognized the two elves, however.

It wasn't until they had cleared the second flight of stairs that trouble reared its ugly head. And neither was prepared for it.

ooo

"Cap'n." Ryal turned from where he sat, pint of ale in hand. One of his subordinates, a man named Emer Thorogood, a recent addition to the ranks of the Irregulars, stood behind him. His arms were crossed and his expression grim. "Can I speak with you?"

"Yeah, sure." Ryal gestured to the seat across from him. Emer quickly sat, elbows resting on the table. "What do you want?"

Emer was not a young man, but he was far from old either. Ryal didn't know where he came from, but the man usually had a confident aura about him and knew how to receive and give orders. He also knew how to use a weapon well. Now, though, he seemed off. His demeanor was strange and his actions strained.

"It's just... I think I overheard something bad." Emer leaned in. "Real bad."

Curious, Ryal leaned in as well. Whatever Emer had to say was leaning on the man's conscious heavily.

"Spit it out."

"I..." Emer paused, fervently glancing about. "I think... I think there's something wrong with Taoran. I just... saw him with R, but he was strange."

"Strange? How so?" Could it be an explanation as to why the Irregulars were being used in such odd ways? No. Ryal forced the thought away. He knew he was just looking for excuses. Still, he would have to listen to whatever Emer had to say.

"I just... well..." He hesitated again. Ryal found himself wishing Emer could get to the point. "I saw R talking with him, an' they was saying things real quiet-like, you know? But... Taoran was just staring blankly. R was leaning in, whispering things in his ears. And he was moving his hands strange too. I thought I saw blood on them, but I wasn't sure..."

He trailed off as Emer snapped to attention, gazing with obvious terror behind Ryal. Turning, he saw R walk into the room. The green hooded man didn't seem any different, still walking the same way, his same cold, wistful demeanor. Despite this, Emer was sweating profusely and Ryal had no real understanding as to why.

"Salutations, gentlemen." R approached slowly. Emer was just staring down at the table. Ryal noticed R showed no reaction towards Emer's obvious distress. "I see you're enjoying a night of drinking as per usual with you mercenary types."

"Greetins be to you, friend." Ryal decided the easiest way was the polite way. R may be a mage and a recent addition to the Irregulars, but he was an ally nonetheless. Emer's fear seemed odd, though. And genuine. "Take a seat, grab a drink."

"I'm sorry. Excuse me." Emer stood quickly, knocking back his stool, tipping it over. He bowed curtly and walked, no, he ran away from the table. Both Ryal and R looked on, confused.

"He's quite an egress-prone fellow, isn't he?" R replaced Emer at his seat. Ryal raised his pint. "Quite odd, considering I saw him not too long ago. Didn't seem so nervous then, up to the point he ran away, at least."

"'Tis nothing, I'm sure." Ryal wanted to find out what Emer was trying to say, but he knew he couldn't just ask R about it.

"I certainly hope it is." Ryal thought R had a hint of a smile on his face under that hood. "It would be unpleasant for him if my suspicions of him are correct.:"

"Suspicions?" Ryal cocked his head, curious. First Emer had started to accuse R of something. Now R was about to say something about Emer? "Of what?"

"I believe Emer..." R lowed his voice, so that no others in the room would hear him. "Is trying to sow the seeds of distrust and enmity amongst the Irregulars, to fool us into resorting to irrational decisions and illogical hatred."

The words struck Ryal with profound force. Both was accusing the other. Who was he to believe? He needed more information.

"There's a heavy accusation." Ryal shook his head. "If yer tellin' the truth, it spells death for Emer. Taoran and the Irregulars don't tolerate such treason."

"Indeed. And so I have a request for you, Ryal." R looked up just slightly, revealing the slightest bit of the end of his nose.

"What?"

"Kill him."

"But where's the proof? The trial?" Ryal reeled in shock. "He at least needs an inspection, not just an execution."

"I'm afraid that's not possible. His crimes must be answered to. By order of Taoran." R sighed. "We already have the proof. We've confiscated letters of correspondence between him and the criminal K, implicating him in various crimes. Emer Thorogood was a lieutenant for K before the split of his carta."

"But I can't just..."

"You have your orders. You know what happens if you disobey." R stood, nodding. "I trust you know what to do."

And R was gone, leaving Ryal to the uncertain feeling growing in his chest. Something was wrong, terribly wrong. But he had no choice. He had his orders.

He'd rather see Emer dead than himself.


	10. A God among Men

**Chapter 9: A God among Men**

_"The sentient races of Thedas never seem to realize their hubris." She sighed, hanging her head. "In a way, Mother was right. Humanity is incapable of ruling itself. The elves allow themselves to endure harsh, hate-filled lives. The Dwarves are endlessly bickering over useless ideals. And the Qunari remain too distant to allow any sort of growth between them and the other nations."_

_ They both stood in the whiteness, waiting for the next memory to appear. Adrian kept glancing at his daughter, thinking about the hardships she must have had to endure in this place. But he also thought of the situation._

_ It made no sense, as she hadn't even be born yet. Was this image of a little girl simply a way to communicate with him? Adrian knew she had the soul of Urthemiel, the Old God of Beauty, inside her, but he also remembered Morrigan's words._

_ She was not just a human, and not a darkspawn. The Old God's soul did not destroy the fetal girl's soul, but merged with it. Creating something... human? Could his daughter be called human? She looked like a normal young girl, aside from the heterochromia, though she certainly didn't act like it most of the time._

_ Adrian knew enough of the Fade to understand appearances are nothing. As Mouse was in control of him, likely the memories he witnessed were equally within the Fade as well as within his own mind. He also knew Mouse was a clever trickster, fully capable of masquerading as his daughter._

_ Yet he was certain she didn't lie about who she was. Yes, the 12 year old girl image was likely just a projection, but that didn't change who she was: An old god still in the womb, somehow capable of reaching out into his consciousness, to help free him from the grasp of a Pride demon._

_ "Sentient people are not far from animals. They're stupid, violent, content to be lead around by the nose, and to hate any who they can blame for whatever minor wrongdoing." Adrian could feel his daughter bristle with anger. "And then they expect to be helped. Pathetic. Alaric was only one example of many, men who fancy themselves to be a god."_

_ "And he died for it." Adrian said, unsure if he liked where his daughter was heading._

_ "But not every person reaches such a fitting fate." She spun, coming face to face with Adrian, her different colored eyes burrowing into his soul. "Your Queen Anora, for example. She is a prideful creature, one who betrayed you. Twice. Yet she is Queen of Ferelden, true master of the throne while Alistair serves as a figurehead."_

_ "Are you implying something?" Adrian stared back, unrelenting. "Anora did what she thought was best for Ferelden."_

_ "No. She did what she thought was best for herself. And her father." Her eyes flickered away at that, but swiftly returned, her intense gaze still there. "She cared little for the Wardens, or even about the Blight. She thought those would work themselves out, as long as Loghain led the charge. No, her focus was on her rule, of her father's rule."_

_ "Her father was disgraced."_

_ "But he was redeemed as well! Thanks to you." She turned away again, as Adrian started feeling rumbling. "In the end, it seems like you only help those that deserve it least. Knowing or not. Yet your actions have changed this country."_

_ "So that answers your original question. No. I won't die for nothing." She paused for a second, thinking._

_ "You may have done incredible things in your life, but not many of those decisions benefited this world." She spoke slowly, as if recalling something. "You betrayed Jowan, the closest friend you ever had, forced him into a position where not only did he lose his one love, but he was exposed as a Blood Mage."_

_ "He-" His daughter cut him off._

_ "You abandoned the King at Ostagar to die, left Lothering to darkspawn and abandoned the village of Redcliffe as you decided to rush to Orzammar to get the treaties dealt with."_

_ "I had no choice!" She silenced him with a wave of her hand._

_ "You saved an assassin, who later betrayed you, then destroyed an ancient artifact that could have brought hope to thousands, simply because of a grudge against the Chantry." She was staring into Adrian's eyes, her gaze cold and unrelenting. "You nearly joined Uldred in his mad quest for domination of the Circle, stopped at the last second by a careless remark on his part. Adrian, you even killed a possessed young girl in the village of Honnleath, despite knowing you could have pulled the same trick that you used on Connor in Redcliffe to save her, or you could have reasoned with the demon."  
"You misunderstand the circumstances." Adrian could feel anger welling up inside him._

_ "Do I? Did I misunderstand the circumstances of how you spared Avernus atop the Warden's Keep, even encouraging his work 'for the good of the Wardens'?" Adrian bit back his words, but he knew she spoke the truth. "Who's side are you on, anyway? You killed Raelnor, the honorable father of a dishonorable man, just because it paid more. Can you be considered a good person?"_

_ Adrian didn't speak, but still he stared into the different colored eyes of his daughter. He had no words to respond with as she laid out the past for him. As she spoke, different memories of these events flashed into the scenery around them. Memories of dark things, indeed._

_ "The werewolves were a sentient, powerful band of creatures, led by a gentle spirit. Yet you slaughtered them like dogs." Her face betrayed no emotion. Not even one of judgement. This was just stating facts, for her. "And you readily sacrificed the elves of the Alienage just as easily."_

_ "It wasn't easy!" Adrian blurted out, realizing he had tears in his eyes. Behind his daughter, he saw Caladrius work his dark magic as Morrigan looked on, smiling. Sten was impassive and Rayne looked at the floor. "None of it was! I made horrible decisions, I know that. I justified it all with the 'anything to stop the Blight' attitude. I was wrong... but that doesn't change the past!"_

_ "Father... You spared a regicide, a man who nearly killed you multiple times, then put an incompetent fool on the throne." Adrian had no words for this. "And then you accepted Morrigan's ritual out of fear for your life."_

_ "No..." Adrian was shocked. His daughter knew everything, she had peered into his memories and learned more about him than he thought possible. But she was wrong about that. "I didn't do the ritual out of fear. I did it out of practicality. I performed it because it was an easy way to make sure nobody had to sacrifice themselves. I didn't want anyone else to die."_

_ "And so I was created." Her gaze was steady, but her words slightly harsh. "Do you regret me, Adrian? Am I just another link in your chain of bad decisions?"_

_ "That's not..." Adrian didn't have a chance to finish. His daughter turned away as the scene shifted again, spinning violently into another memory. He shut his eyes, hoping the gyrating would end soon, hoping he wouldn't get sick._

_ What greeted Adrian's senses first was the smoke, the heat and the sound of steel on steel. He was in the courtyard of the fort from the memory where Alaric was killed, except now it was in ruins. Soldiers fought themselves, severe infighting rampant. People cried out for help, only to be rewarded with death._

_ It was utter chaos. Soldiers didn't know who to attack, but killed anyways, sometimes turning on men who they were fighting besides only moments before. Small bands fought together, only to be torn apart by others, and themselves. Mages flung blood magic and other such spells into the fray from landings above the crowd and Adrian watched one such mage get stabbed through the heart, kicked out into the courtyard, blood pumping from her fatal wounds for a second before she impacted the ground._

_ "By the Maker..." Adrian's daughter simply wandered directly into the crowd, fazing in and out of various men as they died. When she noticed Adrian wasn't following, she turned, waving him over. The mage didn't come quite so quickly, engrossed with the horrific scene that he was._

_ When he did reach his daughter's side, atop the grand set of stairs that led to the platform Alaric gave his speech upon, she spoke. It was hard to hear above the din of the fighting, and Adrian kept getting distracted by the violence around him, but he listened nonetheless._

_ "This is what happens when corrupt men are given too much power." She gave a grand, sweeping motion out over the grand spectacle. Adrian nearly jumped when a man was pushed over the edge just a foot away, tumbling to his doom below. "Alaric's generals turned on each other, each lusting after the Juggernaut armor. Each desiring the invincibility Alaric had become so well known for. Their soldiers followed suit, each vying for a lieutenants favor by killing those that followed others."_

_ "And they caused...this?" Adrian could hardly believe what he was seeing. Brothers fighting brothers. People who fought at each others sides now died at each others blades. It was horrifying._

_ "Hubris, Father." She looked up at Adrian and, for a moment, he thought he saw a hint of tears in her eyes. "This is all humans are capable of."_

ooo

"Rayne?" Ser Gilmore stood in the middle of the hallway, staring disbelievingly at the two elves. Rayne imagined they weren't the prettiest of pairings considering their motley clothes, intense stink and shoddy weapons.

"Ser Gilmore? What are you doing here?" Zevran questioned, his voice kept level. All Rayne and Zevran could do was hope the guards weren't there to kill them.

"I'd ask the same of you! What would traitors to the crown be doing wandering the halls of the palace!" The words hit Rayne hard, for she knew why he'd say them.

Zevran shot forward, dagger held forward. Ser Gilmore tried to defend himself, but the assassin was faster, slamming the pommel of his blade into the knight's nose once, then twice. Ser Gilmore fell to one knee, and Zevran finished him of with a swift kick to the face; the knight falling backwards, unconscious.

"You... Why'd you do that, Zevran!" A tightness clawed at Rayne's chest. Fear. She didn't want to believe it... but her worst nightmare was starting to come true.

"And you'd rather have him call a swarm of guards upon us?" Zevran scoffed. "Help me drag him into one of these rooms. We'll tie him up there and get out of the palace."

"Get out of the palace? But we haven't found Adrian!"

"What more information do we need? This is proof that Adrian's betra-" Zevran was cut off by Rayne as she sprinted down the hall, towards the Chancellor's quarters. Zevran stared after her before following. "Damned fool girl."

Panic tore at Rayne as she ran. She had pushed her doubts inside her, forced them into submission through use of rationalization and denial. That haphazard barrier was now coming undone as Ser Gilmore's words churned through her head. Cold realization coursed through her veins, regretting every step, every movement that dragged her closer to the truth.

The truth she tried so hard to run from.

"You wouldn't do this to me... You couldn't do this to me." Rayne frantically ran now, ignoring all around her. She passed by guards, some of which recognized her, gazing in shock. If not for Zevran swiftly following, struggling to dispatch them, she would have been overwhelmed. Rayne didn't notice, her only focus was the door to Adrian's room.

"Adrian!" She flung open the door, slamming it open so hard the fancy wood frame cracked under the pressure. And she saw him.

Adrian sat, legs crossed, atop a chair leaning against a wall; relaxed, uncaring. He was reading a scroll, too engrossed in it to so much as react to Rayne's presence. Suddenly cowed, Rayne took a hesitant step forward.

"Adrian... I..." Rayne's heart was speeding up; without realizing it, she was afraid. "Why... why are the guards after me?"

She didn't want to hear the answer, as Rayne knew it would only shatter what slim hope she was hanging on to. Mercifully, or perhaps sadistically, Adrian didn't speak immediately. When he did, Rayne felt something different about him. Something... darker.

"The Scrolls of Banastor are such imaginative reads." Adrian didn't even look up, still examining the scroll. "It speaks as if a man could possibly conquer a demon and maintain control as an abomination. Nonsense."

Rayne wanted to yell at him, demand why the guards viewed her as a traitor, but the words caught in her throat. She stared at the man she considered her lover, yet was terrified.

"Such talk of becoming gods, or aligning oneself with concerns far greater than mortal men." Adrian snickered. "I am already a god, I was the moment I stepped upon this land. I need no advice from long-dead abominations of lust or desire. I am more than they ever have been. More than Vilhm Madon. More than EVERYONE!"

"Adrian..." Rayne only found herself confused at his words. Adrian had always been distant, aloof from the concerns of most others. He was always intent on a specific goal, all else being a distraction. But what nonsense was he speaking of now?

Finally Adrian stood, tossing the scroll atop his bed. He turned his gaze upon Rayne. A wave of energy fell upon her, and she could hardly keep herself standing. His red eyes burned holes in her soul, stealing from her the very will to exist.

"Why are you still alive, girl?" His gaze was unflinching, unblinking, his words devastating. There was no feeling, no love, but she denied it still. He had not yet confirmed his betrayal... there was still hope. Still...

"Did you..." The words came slowly, forced out through sheer will, despite the pressure from Adrian, the sheer strength of his mind. "Did you truly... want me dead?"

"Such trivial questions." Adrian raised one arm to the side, palm held out as if to grip something. A mug flew from somewhere in the room, alighting itself upon Adrian's outstretched hand. "Is your kind so incapable of intuition? It seems the world needs gods like myself to lead your kind by the nose, else you would all blunder in the dark. Poor, blind fools."

"Tell me." Rayne struggled to maintain her composure. Her vision was faltering, her mind losing focus. "Adrian..."

"Your mind demands a straight answer from me." Rayne fell to her knees, but her eyes were locked with Adrian's. "Very well. Yes. You were a nuisance, a liability. Your drawbacks outdid your usefulness, thus making you less viable as a tool." Adrian paused, smiling wickedly. "Now I will make sure you die like you were supposed to."

Even in her limited understanding of events unfolding around her, the words rang with a clarity Rayne thought not possible. She was betrayed by one she trusted with her life, by one she trusted. The one shem she actually called human.

Blackness swarmed in on her vision as the betrayal sunk in. She had been right her entire life.

Never trust a shem.

ooo

Ryal found Emer in his quarters, swiftly packing what little belongings he had in a small bag. He looked up, his first reaction to the Captain's presence being one of fear. Then, realizing it was Ryal, his expression changed to one of slight relief. Emer didn't entirely relax, however.

"What're you doin' Emer?" Ryal knew he had to follow orders, but he needed Emer's information first.

"I'm leaving, Cap'n." Emer resumed his hurried packing, throwing the last article into the bag. He shouldered it, heading to the door. "Excuse me."

Ryal didn't budge, instead closing the door behind him. He could see Emer's panic rising. He was cornered, the shadows of realization showing in Emer's face.

"First tell me what you were tryin' to say earlier." Ryal tried to put on a comforting face, but he was never very good at those sorts of things. Ryal could fight, drink and follow orders. Not much else.

"But I..." Emer looked conflicted, his eyes shifty. Ryal knew he was weighing his options. "I just need to go... I gotta... get out of here. R and Taoran... they're gonna come after me."

"Why?"

"It's because... I..." He was acting like he had something to hide, after all. Looks like R was correct after all. Emer was simply trying to sow seeds of distrust. Best get to the job, then. "I never... AH!"

Ryal's left hook caught his jaw, spinning Emer to his right, down stomach-first on the floor. Not pausing for a second, Ryal was on top of him, grabbing his scalp.

"What were you trying to say!" As if it mattered now. Emer knew he was finished. There was no way out of the much larger, much more experienced fighter's grip.

"I... I just-" Ryal slammed his face down once, the crack that resounded likely signaling a broken nose. Ryal raised Emer's head up, menacing him to continue speaking. Ryal could see tears in Emer's eyes. For a second Ryal felt an inclination to stop. "Please... I just..."

"Speak!"

"R was casting a spell!" Emer blurted out, blood spewing from his mouth. Even more confused, Ryal slammed his head down again. Fragments of skin and broken tooth spewed from Emer's mouth as he coughed, sputtering.

"Explain yourself, traitor." Ryal had to use fear to get the answers he needed. It was necessary, or so he kept telling himself. Emer took awhile to continue speaking, his mouth filled with blood and spit.

"I... saw him... Taoran was bleeding! R was chanting some weird things, words I didn't recognize!" Emer was crying now, heavy sobs wracking his body. "It sounded... Tevinter, I think. But I... I saw R talking, and Taoran was just nodding his head!"

"Why is that important?"

"Because... Please... I didn't do anything..." Another slam into the wood floor. Emer was near losing consciousness now.

"That's enough barbarism, Ryal. Needless violence will do nothing." Ryal turned. R was leaning in the doorway, expressionless. "Emer has been accused of treason, attempting to deceive his betters and spreading fear through our ranks."

Ryal stared down at the broken shell of the man. It felt wrong to do this for Taoran, for the Irregulars.

"Kill him." Ryal stared at R, who didn't so much as change his expression despite the morbid orders.

"When Raelnor was alive, we never-"

"Raelnor is here no longer, Ryal. Times have changed, and you would do well to change with them." For a healer to advocate death. The oxymoron was almost funny. Almost.

"It just don't feel right." Ryal could somehow tell R rolled his eyes.

"Well, if you aren't going to do it, I am." R stepped forward, pulling a twisted, cruel-looking dagger from his robes. "Step aside, Ryal."

"The Irregulars ain't how they used to be." Ryal didn't flinch as R neared, dagger flicking between his fingers. In other circumstances, Ryal would have found it odd that a healer could use a dagger so well. "We're heading for dark places, let me tell you."

"Enough. Move aside."

Ryal didn't move at first, simply staring at the approaching man. Finally, he relented, allowing R to climb atop Emer, raising his neck.

"Please..." Emer, the pathetic man accused of crimes that may or may not even be true.

"You'll find no mercy from me, traitor." R spoke slowly, allowing the words to sink in. Emer just whimpered. Ryan noted with morbid amusement he resembled a kicked dog.

"Please..." Ryal wanted to look away, but he couldn't. In a way, he knew he had to see this through to the end. He had to watch a once proud man die, if only for the sake of closure. The dagger was pressed against Emer's neck now, and Ryal somehow knew he was just a piece, just a expendable pawn for his supposed betters.

As R dug his dagger in, Emer's lifeblood spilling across the wooden floor, Ryal wondered just how long it would be before he was expendable too.

ooo

Saul hurried her inside the room, checking the hall before shutting the door, bolting it. Myr rolled her eyes at all the precaution, but didn't comment on it. She looked about the room, surprised by how large it was.

The Gnawed Noble Tavern, despite being overcrowded in the main room, had remarkably few rooms booked, likely because the innkeeper refused to lower his prices. It both disgusted and relieved Myr, as she knew there were people sleeping on the streets because of it, but she knew that if the rooms were easily affordable she and Saul would be the ones out there instead.

Myr realized this was one of the fanciest rooms she had stayed in her entire life. If her memory served, when she lived in the Denerim Alienage her quarters was a mat in the corner of a small room, that room being the home of her entire family. In the Tower of Magi the situation wasn't much better, as the Templars crowded the mages into large rooms, tens of apprentices packed together with no personal space or privacy whatsoever.

She looked to Saul, who was exploring the rooms with an airy, aloof expression on his face. He seemed detached, except in a bad way. His anger had apparently turned into detachment. Not a good sign.

"Saul..." The object of her concern had sunk onto the one bed in the suite, head in hands. Myr sat next to him, wrapping her arm around him and laying her head on his shoulder. He tensed, causing Myr to expect him to withdraw, but he eventually relaxed, even slightly leaning on her.

"Denerim holds nothing more for me. My objective lies in Amaranthine, as you know." It surprised Myr when he spoke first, but she took it as a good thing. "You shouldn't come with me."

"I want to." As much as Saul mystified her, Myr knew she had to be forceful with him. He was stubborn and would not easily accept something he didn't agree with. "And I know you want me there too."

"I..." Hesitation. Myr was breaking through his defenses.

"You said you'd tell me what you're trying to do." Myr looked at Saul, who kept his head facing the ground. "Saul... Stop holding it in, or you're just going to torment yourself."

Saul looked at her, likely trying to finally decide if he was going to say it or not.

"I... My goal is..." Come on, Saul. Myr subconsciously held her breath. "Criminal, a tactic of revenge. I mean to break the law in a violent display of my wrath. Would you still wish to know?"

"Breaking the law doesn't matter to me. I'm an apostate. The law wants to break me." Myr laughed lightly. "If it's illegal, I don't care. You've likely done worse in front of me already."

"I... seek to take vengeance against the remaining Howe's, to slaughter them as they did my family. Every last one of them."

ooo

Saul didn't feel much relief off letting that secret out; in fact, he felt fear. Fear of rejection. Fear of Myr becoming wary. He didn't want her to hate him, as illogical as that was. He knew he had become too attached to the elf, but he couldn't help himself. He wanted to let her know everything. He expected a horrified look, a shocked expression. A shake of the head...

She laughed.

Dumbfounded, Saul just looked on as laughter coursed through the slender elf's frame, holding her stomach as her body shook. A confusing reaction and definitely one Saul didn't expect. She seemed almost... jovial? He hadn't seen a reaction of happiness towards anything he had done in a long time, and in a way Myr's action reinvigorated him. It took awhile for her to stop; by then tears had formed on the edges of her eyes. Saul could just barely feel the tug of a smile on the edges of his lips, but not quite there.

"You're... laughing?"

"Yeah... well... I was expecting something like 'I'm gonna burn down a village and drink the blood of babies', not something so simple as revenge." Occasional spurts of short chuckles were intermittent with her speech.

"Most people would view any sort of murder as abhorrent."

"You never lived in the Circle Tower, then." Saul cocked an eyebrow, confused. "See, we lived with the constant, oppressive gaze of the Templars all around us. Occasionally one of us would disappear in the night. Forever. On the rare occasion they actually told us why, it was usually a false accusation of blood magic or other such bullshit." Myr smiled. "We all wanted revenge, for lost friends or false punishment or long-held grudges. Life in the Circle wasn't easy for us."

"But..." It came as a complete surprise. For a second Saul felt as if he was back in the Cousland castle; remembering his teachings from Mother Mallol, how murder was always wrong, no matter the reasoning. Saul usually questioned everything she said, but her lesson on murder had struck a chord.

For the first time in over a year, Saul actually had twinge of hesitation for his goals. Myr was getting to him, but Saul wasn't sure if he should take that as a good or bad thing. He was still going to kill Nathaniel and Delilah... but were his reasons good enough?

Saul was looking at a girl who had friends taken away from her throughout her entire life, a girl eternally oppressed by faceless tyrants, a girl who took a chance of freedom and ran with it, even at the possible cost of her life.

Was his reason for revenge better than hers? Saul could turn back, he could walk back to Fergus and ask to be taken home, not that Saul would. He could forget everything. Myr couldn't. She was forced to live with the decisions of others, yet she held no grudges.

"All I want is a companion, and you're interesting enough." Myr smiled. Saul thought he was affected by it, too. "Even if your quest is one of revenge, I've seen worse than a few dead bodies. I can handle it. Besides, I've heard of the Howe's. They aren't nice people."

"You're putting yourself at risk."

"My existence is a risk." That shut Saul up.

"There's no point arguing it, Saul." Myr cupped Saul's head in her hand, standing so as to look at him face-to-face. "I'm coming with you."

"If the Templars find out you helped a murderer, you'd be-" Saul found himself cut off as Myr leaned in, her lips brushing against his.

The action caught Saul off guard, despite how he always tried to keep himself prepared for anything. She... was kissing him? The feeling was almost alien. He'd been kissed before, but they had taken place such a vast time ago it felt... different.

She held it for a few seconds before parting, backing away a step, blushing. Saul wasn't sure what to do, but she acted in his place.

"Enough worrying about me. You've got bigger problems." Myr smiled again, a sly look on her face. "You've got people to kill, a family to avenge and a beautiful elf to accompany you. Shouldn't you be happy?"

And as odd as it seemed, Saul thought he was.


	11. Change

**Chapter 10: Almost**

_"What hope does Thedas have?" Shifting again, the memory around them contorted, dying screams slowly replaced by eerie silence, broken only by her voice. "Minority rules over majority, as history has always portrayed. Grey Wardens to defeat the Blight, Kings and Queens to lead a nation, religion to divide the masses."_

_ "But what if you're wrong?" Adrian asked, struggling to get through to his daughter. "What if my kind, or any sentient race, just need to be given a chance?"_

_ "For the thousandth time? The millionth?" She shook her head, lowering his gaze to the nothingness below. The memory of death and betrayal was gone. "There have been many chances, too many to count; each was as spectacular a failure as the last."_

_ "If we don't hope, we'll-"_

_ "What's the point in hope?" She gazed up at him, expression not one of childishness, as Adrian would have expected from a 12 year old. Her speech, her actions, her disposition all spoke of wisdom far beyond her apparent years. "Hope is irrelevant. Only truth matters, and the truth is far from inspiring."_

_ "Truth is subjective." Adrian shot back, hoping to somehow change her train of thought. The pessimism she displayed could not be a positive facet of her character. "Right and wrong differs within each person."_

_ "Opinions are like assholes. You said that once." The memory flashed into existence behind her, a fleeting shadow of a thought. "Nevertheless, I stand by truth. Mortals routinely show themselves to be pathetic."_

_ "Not everyone can be dismissed so easily. There are good people out there, smart people. People who are capable of, even worthy of, their standings in life." Adrian spread his arms for emphasis. His daughter didn't seem impressed. "We are people, not animals. Do not view us the same way."_

_ "You put emphasis on 'us' and 'we'." She cocked an eyebrow. "'Tis confusing. You aren't human."_

_ "Says who?" Angered, Adrian's voice raised unintentionally._

_ "Mouse." Adrian felt the anger recede. No matter what his daughter said, his main goal was Mouse, above all. "As long as he has control of your body, you're just a mindless horror."_

_ "Hardly mindless..." Adrian scoffed, dismissing her notion as ridiculous. "I still maintain a sense of self, you know."_

_ "It would be impossible for you to survive without me." She said it simply, cruelly. Adrian found himself flinching. "You'd already be dead. You know that."_

_ Adrian turned away, ignoring her statement, examining the nonexistent distance, wondering why his mind appeared as a vast, empty space. Was Mouse so fully ingrained within him that he had sucked the very essence of his being away? But even more pressing was his daughter. To know so much, yet exist for so short a time... What was she? Truly?_

_ "Well, since you know everything..." Focusing his gaze on the nothingness enveloping around them, Adrian had to wonder how he'd possibly escape the place. "How do I get control back?"_

_ "You'll find out..." Whiteness shifting, Adrian could feel another memory start to form. Another of Mouse's. "You have to see something first, Father."_

_ Thrumming, a horse's vibrant galloping was the first to greet Adrian in the new memory. He stood at the gates of General Alaric's keep, dark night sky overhead, rain pouring in sheets. The galloping grew louder, eventually speeding past Adrian. A group of soldiers atop horses, heavy metal armor glistening in the dark wetness._

_ "Open the Keep, by order of Magister Harach!" Adrian squinted, struggling to make out the lead form atop the frontal horse, shouting orders at nobody, hoping to be heard. The soldiers atop the horses were uneasy, their mounts shifting on their feet. The leader was at the head, staff held high while he shouted._

_ It was Harach, face splayed with fear, voice shaking. He pounded the gates, yet no response came._

_ "Blast it all." Adrian felt the crackle of magical energies in the air. Harach raised his arms, slitting one wrist with a knife. Blood freely flowing, dark pull of his magic tugging at Adrian, blood flowing into the air. Harach's arms fell, blood racing forward, tearing holes into the gate._

_ One by one, Harach and his men slowly maneuvered their way through, slow clanking of armor in time with clopping of horses. The air was eery, quiet and near pitch dark, the torchlight of the horsemen being Adrian and his daughter's only guide._

_ Though he expected the sight, the inside of the keep still astonished him. Bodies carpeted the ground, the blood sinking in the ground. Hints of spirits, of ethereal beings, seemed to flit among the darkness, anxious horsemen hoping they were simply figments of the imagination._

_ "Death made the Veil tear. The keep became haunted by the spirits of those betrayed; of the damned." She spoke slowly, somberly. Adrian was grateful for her voice, for it meant he was still alive, not yet succumbing to nightmares. "Harach knew it, too. He knew what awaited him here, driven by the fact that his friend, Alaric, was dead..."_

_ Harach led the group, head held high, and Adrian saw the pain in his eyes._

_ "...and he wanted someone to blame."_

_ "Magister Harach!" The man's head turned to the direction of his shout, jumping from horseback and clambering up the stairs to the main hall of the keep. Adrian and his daughter followed._

_ Following him through doors, hallways, eventually moving upwards, they emerged on the roof. Adrian's breath caught._

_ As if on cure, a man was stabbed, pushed over the edge of the keep as Adrian and Harach emerged into the rain. Three men stood, swords pointed at each other. A fourth lay in a pool of blood. He had been slain while putting on the Juggernaut Armor, his throat wickedly slashed from ear to ear. A gruesome grin adorning a gruesome sight._

_ "M-Magister!" One lieutenant recognized Harach immediately. It was Jerich, the mastermind behind the murder of Alaric. The other two Adrian couldn't place a name too, but Harach definitely knew them._

_ "You three are all that is left?" Harach's arms were limp, his staff limply grasped. Voice swiftly rising, Harach continued. "Of all the hundreds of men stationed at the fort... only YOU three pathetic souls survive!"_

_ "Captain, these men are traitors to the Archon!" Jerich spoke fast as soldiers poured in behind Harach, weapons at ready. Jerich was hoping to save his skin, but Harach knew better. "They betrayed Alaric for his armor, they killed everyone!"_

_ Harach didn't look impressed, his gaze unsympathetic. Staff slowly raised, body shaking with anger, Adrian knew Jerich's lies would not believed._

_ "It seems the gods hate me." Harach swung his staff once, the arm of one lieutenant was crushed; he fell to the ground, screaming. "They steal from me my best friend."_

_ Another wave of the staff. Now both arms were crushed, the man on his knees, crying, begging for mercy. Jerich looked on with horror._

_ "Righteous retribution is a bitch, ain't it?" And then the head. Body fluids flying, Adrian winced._

_ Jerich and the other man backed away, their hate for the other stemmed in the wake of Harach's fury. The other man shouted, charging._

_ "At least you meet death proudly." His sword was whisked from his hand, the man stumbled forward, propelled by Harach's magic. When the sword came back, it found his head. "Yet you denied Alaric that honor."_

_ "Don't do this... Harach, we were friends once." Jerich's sword fell, fearful, arms clasping together. "Please..."_

_ "Alaric didn't beg, did he." Statement, not question. "He was a great man, far more than you. Poison was below what he deserved."_

_ Jerich screamed as one hand was cut, severed by an invisible blade._

_ "Please!"_

_ "Begging serves nothing." Another slice. This time a leg. Jerich fell over, stumbling and crying atop the ground. Adrian wanted to turn away, but found he couldn't. His daughter didn't flinch._

_ "Please..."_

_ "Alaric's one wish was to die in battle..." Harach approached Jerich, staff twirling. He struck Jerich in the head, blood flying, Harach cried while he spoke._

_ "Harach... I..." Slam. Jerich fell silent._

_ "I loved him!" Swing. Thud. Jerich cried. Harach cried. Adrian could feel tears in his eyes. "You took away my one friend, my only friend!"_

_ Slam. Blood flying._

_ "Why!"_

_ Slam. Teeth flying._

_ "He gave you victory!"_

_ Slam. Bone flying._

_ "He was your leader!"_

_ Slam. Brain flying._

_ "He was my friend..."_

_ Harach collapsed, his staff his only support. Soldiers looked on silently as rain masked his tears. All he had left was pain._

_ Here was a proud man, a mage, yet his eyes weave a different yarn. They were empty. Cold. Dead._

_ Revenge gives a shallow victory indeed._

ooo

Myr had already awoke when the message slipped under the door. She thought... no... she knew it would come eventually. R would contact her, he would use her, he would need her.

And she would oblige.

Slender frame slipping from silken sheets, Myr's weight shifted expertly, keeping Saul asleep. Oblivious to Myr's movements, he shifted, arm swinging wide, across where Myr laid only a second before. Myr stifled a smile. So angry a man, so violent, so passionate, yet so peaceful when sleeping.

The letter was ordinary, bland beige parchment with little decoration. Ever the pragmatist, R spared no thought for anything ostentatious. Only what was necessary, he always said. And yet Myr cared so much for her appearance. He always hated that.

The message was ordinary, a customary trait for an informant. Careful men, smart men, they do not divulge everything in so open a forum as a letter slipped under a door. If the messenger read it, he should find gibberish.

Myr knew what to look for. Her eyes scanned the text, decoding it masterfully, as she had done many times in the past. The simple act rung of nostalgia, a longing for a past forever lost. Myr shook it out of her. No. As long as the templars hunted, she was forever a nomad.

But now she had Saul, so maybe that wouldn't be so bad.

Gently, Myr pulled on her clothes, not as much as a rustle disturbing Saul's peaceful reverie. She would not be gone when he awoke, and he could not see her leave. Simplicities, innocent happenings, even as minor as being out of place when you awake, invite disaster. Another of R's lessons. Another dialogue committed to memory. Another valuable thought.

The door opened, hinges creaked, an involuntary flinch. Carefully, too carefully, Myr guided herself between the small opening between door and frame. And then she was in the clear.

R wanted her presence, an oddity Myr had not planned for. He had discovered her in Denerim after all.

Well, it wasn't that surprising.

R didn't miss anything.

ooo

Pain. Rayne couldn't see. All around her blackness. Shouts in ears. Crying. Whispering. Death. Pain.

She knew she was on the ground, yet saw nothing. Nothing but Adrian's eyes, demonic, haunting, evil.

"Rayne!" Yet the voice saved her. Her head snapping upwards, Rayne saw Adrian's gaze change. No longer was he focusing on her. Instead, the assassin, Zevran, stood in the doorway.

She wanted to yell to him, demand that he ran. He had to save himself. Don't look in his eyes, she screamed inside. Yet he was unaffected. Zevran met Adrian's gaze evenly, not so much as shuddering.

"As seductive as the pose you put her in is, my lord, why are you doing this?" Zevran's voice was cocky, coy even. Unafraid, yet protective? "Both of us have served your every sickening whim and desire, yet all you thank us with is death. How impolite."

"You deserve it." Rayne felt herself returning to reality. The invasive presence in her mind receding, refocusing elsewhere. If it was Zevran, he did not show it.

"And yet you used to be quite the talker." Sighing, the assassin raised his blade, a pathetic little thing, far from perfect, one snatched from a guard, likely.

Rayne, now regaining her sense of self, becoming aware of her surroundings, tried to stand. A failed attempt.

"All poor Zevran had to do was mention an Antivan whore or a batch of wine and you'd snap to attention, eager for whatever delicious and delightful conversation I had decided to start. Where did that go, I wonder?"

"The Adrian you know is dead."

"Oh sure, sure. Be dramatic and all that." Zevran approached Rayne, sword still pointed forward. Kneeling, she could see him check her. He'd find no outer wounds, but he would not find the scars on her heart. "How cliché to be saying that here. Have a better line? How about 'I was going through an early mid-life crisis' or something?"

"Fool elf. You don't understand. I am a god, now. You are nothing." If Zevran was afraid, he didn't show it. Rayne was only barely regaining her strength now, her mind starting to focus, to sharpen. Plans formulating in her head, she needed a way out.

"Now that is surprising. I never realized your narcissism extended into the realm of the dangerously insane." Zevran still kept alert. If Adrian tried anything, he was ready. "I didn't realize you were much of a narcissist at all, really. How prideful. How sad."

"Zevran..." Rayne coughed when she spoke, but he nodded nevertheless.

"I know. We're fucked in most of our holes now. If only miracles could shower us again, like back during the Blight..." Zevran stood alert. Ready.

"You will die here, elf. I should know better than leave jobs in the hands of others, when I can complete them my-"

Adrian stiffened, head snapping to the side, staring at the wall, mouth forming unheard words.

Vilhm Madon.

Zevran took the chance. Using his distraction, Zevran flung his blade at Adrian, pulling Rayne up in the same motion. Two steps back and they were out the door.

Rayne stumbled, but kept herself moving upright. She was standing, then running. Zevran leading the way, the elves didn't look back. Yet there was no pursuit. Adrian didn't even bother, which swiftly became apparent.

They were in the basement again, opening the hole to the sewers, escaping. Yet no guards came after them. Ser Gilmore was gone when she passed by his fallen location, yet no alarms were raised. No one alerted.

They were, effectively, free and clear.

"You think the sword thing worked?" Rayne didn't respond, just staring at the blackness of the ground. She didn't even care about the stink, the sewage. She could barely listen to Zevran.

Her mind was still uncertain. Adrian had attacked her, acted so out of character that he resembled little of what he used to be. And then Zevran had saved her, another act completely out of character.

Too much information, too little time. Rayne's mental shock didn't end soon.

It didn't end in ten minutes, in the hour it took to leave the sewers. Zevran spoke often, making conversation. Hoping to lighten the mood.

Rayne didn't respond.

ooo

R. The enigma

Who was he?

Ryal was no wizened scholar, no deductive genius. He was hardly even breaking average as it was right now, but even a fool knows when events don't add up.

R came and everything changed. Taoran, the Irregulars, his missions. Everything. R was a former informant, which was bad enough on its own, even without everything else.

But R just seemed different. He walked straight, confidently, always smirking at something. He was an older man, yet was swift and fleet of foot as if he was in his prime. He was smart too, eerily so. He talked smoothly, passively, persuasive.

It was the smart ones people needed to look out for. They take over, put their intentions to work, and all the masses can only say they were manipulated.

Ryal watched him kill a man in cold blood, a man about to confess a wrongdoing R had done. It didn't seem right. Ryal couldn't trust him.

But now even Taoran was distant. Even in light of Emer's accusations, Taoran stayed in his rooms, only venturing out once to retrieve a meal. When he did... his eyes were cold. Gone. There was no violent passion, the anger that defined the Commander, not anymore. Why?

He walked like a dead man, shifting, focused on nothing. R beside him, silent, yet alert. Yet relaxed. R was a man of oxymora, he was.

Ryal knew Taoran was no longer pulling the strings. R was making all the decisions now, but why? What happened to make Taoran, ever the ambitious one, so passive?

Ryal knew better than to question. To question was to raise suspicion, and Emer lay dead because of it. When R came to him with his next mission, his only responses were yeses and nods. R would get what he desired, for now. But Ryal was going to figure it out.

Who was he?

The mission was simple. Deliver a letter. To a man. A dangerous man. Ryal wasn't scared, but he wasn't ecstatic either. His target was D, a crime lord, the dominant one since K was found dead in a ditch, face down, slaughtered by darkspawn. K was feeding the birds, or at least those diseased enough to be eating corrupted flesh.

Ryal knew it was coded, there was no point even checking it. R was careful, bringing no end to strife to Ryal. R knew the business of crime, and knew it well. He seemed three steps ahead, three steps ahead of that, and then another just in case.

It was no wonder he survived so long, mixed in the most dangerous of crowds in Denerim. The games he played with other criminals were too complicated to even ponder, Ryal knew, yet he pondered them still.

He wasn't a smart man, so how could he complete against a genius?

All Ryal could do is go with R, act like a loyal subject, do as he desired. Hopefully, maybe he'll earn a position of trust, learn all the plans, discover the secrets.

Unlikely, but he could try.

When Ryal neared the sewer entrance, he tensed. The stench was overpowering, but the fear was even more so. Faces clung to the darkness, examining, questioning his presence. They let him pass when he presented the letter, but still they watched.

"And finally Taoran's dog runs to us, kicked into paying attention too many times to count." D's face was hidden in the darkness, but he was old, wise. Ryal knew enough about the man to keep his head bowed, respectful.

"R brings a message." Ryal extended the parchment, swiftly snatched away by an underling. "It's coded, but I assume you know how to break it."

"Indeed." D scanned the message. "It'll take some time, so I have no response. You may go."

Crime dealings were generally not gatherings of social butterflies. They were better kept short, terse, for fear of death was too powerful in the seedy underbelly of Denerim.

Fear of death kept things civil one too many times.

"Wait!" Ryal turned slowly when he heard D speak. "Tell R that next time he wishes my help he should have the courtesy of arriving himself. His last request killed more than a few men, despite the target being a single man."

"I shall inform him, ser." And that was it. Ryal didn't know any more than before.

Dark dealings done by ignorant messengers.

That was reality.

That was crime.

ooo

The second last thing Saul thought he would ever awake to again was a soft, feminine body. The last was a sense of peace.

Yet here the former was. When he opened his eyes, Myr's snow-white hair greeted his nose, the sweet smell of some exotic fruit never to pass through his lips softly greeting him.

Briefly he thought of Delilah, of the first morning he woke to find her next to him. Saul banished the thoughts. Delilah meant nothing to him now. She was a corpse yet to die.

When Myr turned over, her eyes still closed, Saul almost felt at peace. Just tugging at the edges of his being, he almost felt he could relax. Not quite, but there it was.

Her nose a fraction of an inch away from his, Saul didn't want to move. He didn't want to disturb the serenity he was so close to. But duty demanded it be so.

It was time to leave Denerim.

He tried sitting up, tried to move without waking her, but the task proved impossible. Her eyes were open before he even got halfway. Her next movement a yawn, a stretch, her entire body straining to her fullest extent, her slender form rustling under the sheets of the bed.

Almost at peace.

She mumbled, turning over, groaning about Saul waking her up. Looking around for his clothes, Saul noticed Myr's didn't seem to be in the same place as last night. He was certain her underclothes had been draped over a changing screen... but he was probably remembering wrong.

Saul ran a hand through his hair. It was clean for the first time in a long time. Myr forced him to clean himself, despite his protests. In a way the grime, the dirt, the everyday muck that he trudged around in for a year was a symbol of who he was, how far he had fallen, how base his instinct for revenge was.

When it was cleaned, it felt like part of him, part of the callous side he grew to rely upon, was shed. Only part of it, however, the cosmetic side, the one that screamed savage and struck fear into the hearts of his enemies, for they saw only barbarian when they looked into his eyes.

Now, examining himself in a mirror, Saul thought he recognized who he was before. The Saul Cousland of Highever, second in line to the title of Teyrn, rambunctious thief and raider of noble panty drawers.

His first instinct was to reject it, to lie and kill and be a monster, but he found he couldn't. His vengeance must be satiated of course, but somewhere inside he realized that he didn't need to be miserable to accomplish this.  
Glancing back at the elven form of Myr twisting in the blankets, Saul almost thought it possible. Almost satisfied. Almost happy.

Almost at peace.


	12. Rotting Throne

**Chapter 11: Rotting Throne**

_"Forever denied, a betrayal reeks of deeds tragic._

_I steel myself alone, binding you by your true name._

_Keith Jevon, revenant and perversion of an honorable warrior._

_No company of misery, your death unmourned._

_Dumat hold you, traitor, and bind your lust for eternity."_

_ The first revenant rose, skin burned black, armor in tatters, reeking power. The power of control, of betrayal. Harach stood before it, gaze unwavering as the possessed corpse drew closer. Adrian knew of the ritual, the blood magic used, binding a demon of pride to the corpses of the lieutenants._

_ It stood there, unmoving, silently battling Harach for control, for dominance. Several moments later, the revenant fell to its knees. Submission._

_ "Sir! The Clayne!" A voice of a soldier rang out. Harach didn't turn, but Adrian did. The night revealed a line of charging men. The barbarians had slipped in through the dark, eager for revenge. It was massive, thousands of men yelling, trampling, shaking the earth and sky with their shouts. "Sir! We won't be able to hold such a force off by ourselves!"_

_ Harach didn't respond, instead twirling his staff again, chanting, tapping into the Fade. His lieutenant took control, issuing orders to his men. One last stand, one last fight with the Clayne. Except now there was no Alaric, no army._

_ "Peace shattered by your hand, no peace will greet you in death._

_Solitary, my pain shall bind you by your true name._

_Amedeo Devante, revenant and perversion of an inspiring mentor._

_Let no soul love you any longer, twisted curse you are._

_Dumat hold you, traitor, and bind your lust for eternity."_

_ The second corpse shuddered as a fade demon forced its way in, twisting, churning. It stood, blackened flesh dripping acid, reattaching its body parts with no emotion. Harach dominated it, but he was weary now, eyes becoming sunken, body hunching, yet still he pressed._

_ "Why is he doing this?" Adrian's voice was but a whisper. The Clayne was almost upon them now, Harach's men barely in position, guarded only by broken walls and shattered gate. His daughter didn't respond._

_ Harach stumbled over to Jerich's corpse, staff keeping him upright. Again he tapped into the fade, drawing out yet another demon._

_ "He attracts Pride Demons, yet..." Adrian could hardly believe what he was seeing. Harach's power was near godlike, yet he was but a minor magister in the Tevinter Imperium. What was the Archon, then? How divine did he seem to the masses who followed him? How many demons of Pride served his every whim? Tevinter magic seemed almost unearthly. Could this be what true power was?_

_ "Death brings kindness, a reprieve not deserved._

_Without mercy, my hatred binds you by your true name._

_Jerich Garett, revenant and perversion of a trusted companion._

_No more your lies shall corrupt, never your truths be heard._

_Dumat hold you, traitor, and bind your lust for eternity."_

_ The third chant barely escaped his lips before Jerich's corpse rose, human no longer. Revenant of Pride he had become, red eyes examining his surroundings. Harach mustered strength to stand, but the revenant grabbed his neck, dragging him upwards._

_ The formerly healthy-looking man seemed but a frail shell as he kicked in the air, but his voice still commanded power as Jerich struggled for control._

_ "You... will... submit!" Adrian could feel the power in the air, dust rose of its own accord, lightning flashed as man fought revenant for dominance. They stared into each others eyes for hours, it seemed. Finally, the grasp loosened, and Harach fell to his knees, gasping._

_ The Clayne was upon them now, fighting their way through the broken gate. Harach did not notice as his men screamed and died. Too many barbarians, Tevinter blood flowing as heavily as the rain._

_ Harach stood, three revenants tailing him, staff raised. He opened his mouth, as if to chant, but stopped short. He closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them, they shone red as blood._

_ "Mouse... You will obey me!" Harach's body shuddered, falling again, his staff slipping away. The revenants stood motionless. "You are nothing to me!"_

_ Adrian stood confused, uncertain at what he was witnessing. Harach's body twisted, contorting as he fought an inner battle with Mouse. And finally his daughter spoke._

_ "Mouse didn't want to be bound to a body, to serve eternally as a mindless guardian of the Juggernaut set. None of the demons did, but Mouse was stronger than they. Harach spent most of his power already, so Mouse took the chance to gain control."_

_ Adrian watched as Harach thrashed, magic shooting into the sky, the ground. More than one blast struck the hapless barbarians below in the courtyard, the rest noticing Harach. Shouting, they charged up into the keep._

_ "Mouse was split in two, so fervently they fought." Adrian's daughter turned to Adrian, her face betraying no emotion. "Harach was much stronger than you. Mouse could be chained easily by Harach when he was in his prime. Weakened, he struggled. In the process to keep control of his own mind, he tore the Pride Demon asunder."_

_ Harach fell, gasping, vomiting, finally, he turned over, one hand extending to the sky. Briefly, a flash erupted from his hand, expelling light and power. Adrian thought he heard a scream._

_ "Harach took the darkest side of Mouse's power, ejecting it, while keeping the reason, the intelligence, the true strength of the demon." Harach rose, but his skin blackened now, his eyes deep red. He walked mindlessly towards the Juggernaut armor, along with the other three revenants. Together, they stripped the corpse, each taking a piece. "Harach became a revenant, but was a magician as well. He was... both. Arcane horror and Revenant."_

_ Harach's revenant corpse smiled as it took the breastplate. The other ones showed no emotion as they faded away, disappearing into the unknown._

_ "What was left of Mouse and Harach's soul fused together, forming something else. Something... stronger." Adrian's daughter tensed as the revenant approached, extending its arm towards the girl. "He was Unbound, restricted by no binding verse, tethered by no mortal law. Beyond Abomination, beyond mortality."_

_ Harach, if he could be called as such, smiled._

_ "Correct, girl." Adrian stepped back, shocked. It saw them?_

_ "Yes, mortal. I did." The revenant's face remained in a twisted grin, its gaze unrelenting. Adrian could feel the power, the anger, the desire for retribution. "I see you clearly as a light in the dark. It is too terrible, too guiding. I need no light now. I am Harach no longer. I am more than he ever was."_

_ "Yeah, get on with it, then." Adrian's daughter frowned, waving her hand to dismiss him. The revenant backed away, breastplate still in hand. It bowed before turning his face up at Adrian._

_ "Witness Gaxkang!" In a shower of light, it was gone, only an empty, dark feeling remaining behind. Adrian and his daughter stood in silence while Adrian's thoughts raced. What had he seen? He shuddered, suddenly feeling the cold and wetness of the memory._

_ "The Mouse you know was what Harach expelled. What was left became an Unbound Revenant, free to live in the mortal world, stronger than any creature ever to walk the land. Stronger than an Old God, stronger than the Archdemon." His daughter sighed. "He later took a name, Vilhm Madon, and lived as human, but its darkness had not yet receded from the land."_

_ "What happened to it?"_

_ "It's still here, supposedly. All the power of a Tevinter Magister, coupled with nigh-unlimited intelligence, endurance, and magic. It's like me, an amalgamation of more dark sources than can be imagined." His daughter looked down. "The first thing Gaxkang did was discard the armor in a town in the Brecilian forest. The presence of the armor drew the rest of the revenants eventually, each picking locations to guard their prizes for eternity. The villagers were either killed or driven out, their town falling to ruins."_

_ "Maker..."_

_ "Rumor has it Vilhm Madon's darkness still taints Ferelden, his invisible guiding hand driving men to madness, to death. I know not his location, or even if such stories are true."_

_ The memory started shifting again, just as Clayne barbarians burst through the door behind them, shouting and clanking steel._

_ "The barbarians found neither Harach nor the armor, the revenants were long gone." The memory spun, the blackness and wet of the scene fading away. "Gaxkang lives to this day, for I can feel him outside your body."_

_ "What will he do?" Adrian's daughter just shrugged._

_ "I have a feeling you'll find out. Mouse's goal for thousands of years was to reconnect with his other half, to regain his lost power." She shook her head. "You'll soon bear witness to this. Who comes out the victor, I know not. But you will not walk out the same."_

ooo

When Saul wanted to leave Denerim, he had hoped the assassins wouldn't come back. Hope was futile, and the young Cousland knew it. Thus, his luck wasn't exactly the best that day.

Not when Myr is unconscious, bleeding profusely from a wound in her side, a sword pressed against her neck. Saul would have attacked, he would have struggled with every fiber of is being to end the life of his oppressors; with every intention of coming out alive as well, of course.

Not today. Not when Myr's life was on the line. He had to comply.

The black clad assassins found them easily, as if they knew exactly where they were going. Their ambush was complete, well executed and, if Saul bothered to admit it, almost commendable. These were not the untrained, undisciplined street rats from before. Those were likely tests, ones meant to gauge Saul's strength so as to better capture him.

But why? They led him into sewers, guiding him along at blade point. Myr was carried on a crude stretcher ahead, her wounds already bandaged. They made it very clear that if he attacked, her life was forfeit. They took no chances.

Little light, little understanding of what was going on, Saul would have escaped if Myr wasn't in danger. He should have run, he knew. He had to to get to the Howe's. Nevermind Myr!

But he couldn't do it. Saul was a slave to his emotion, just as he feared. He could not discard Myr even if it was the most logical option. Emotions were never logical.

Eventually the blackness of the sewer opened up, slowly at first. The light started filtered in, revealing his path. Aside from making it much easier to walk, now he could make mental notes of the faces of those who captured him.

If he remembered them, he could kill them.

Satisfied with those thoughts, Saul continued walking, making sure to memorize every face, every distinguishing figure. If he made it out alive, these men wouldn't.

ooo

Betrayal was a hard pill to swallow.

The only natural reaction was pain, and violence. Rayne wanted blood, she could almost taste it on her lips. But how could she exact retribution upon Adrian?

She loved him. With all the fiber of her being, Rayne was devoted to Adrian. She killed for him, even when she knew it was wrong. She needed him. She depended on him.

She depended on him?

Rayne snapped her head up. Zevran was checking out the window to their hiding spot, looking for guards while she held her internal monologue.

No. No shem had the right to make her dependent. She had become lax, lazy, too willing to conform to the desires of a single man. This made her weak, vulnerable.

Rayne knew she needed to reassert control, to flip the scales, to let Adrian know she would not be denied or controlled. Slowly, it built within her. At first she denied it, but her nature gave in.

She needed... no... she wanted revenge.

Adrian would die.

There was no point being submissive, bending to the whims of every shem. It was her nature to rebel, to fight against everything that sought to tether her down. The Alienage, Vaughan, the Blight, and now Adrian.

"We need to go back." Zevran's head turned slowly, distaste in his face. He would not readily agree to this, but Rayne needed his help. As much as she hated to admit it, to destroy what she depended upon she needed to rely upon Zevran.

"Are you always this insane?" Zevran's sly grin was still there, but was admittedly less obvious on his face. What struck her more was his gaze. Steeled, calculating. "Or is today just a more mentally unstable day for you?"

"I've been betrayed and so have you. Don't you think Adrian needs to pay?"

"How quickly you forget he's the Chancellor! He's powerful. He's well guarded. Two elves won't so much as make a scratch on that pretty face of his. If you want revenge, I'm going home. I've been here too long, and Maker knows how the Crows act when the Zevran is away."

"No!" Rayne stood, raising her arms to her sides. "I need you here. I need help."

Zevran shook his head, turning to the door.

"This is it? You're just leaving?"

"Yup." Zevran's hand was gripped on the doorknob now.

"I'll do anything!" Zevran's hand fell. Rayne knew she finally got through, though she wasn't sure she liked that she did.

"Anything? Now I'm interested." Zevran turned back, smile wide on his face. "I wonder what that entails..."

"Don't get your hopes up." Rayne said quickly, as Zevran's eyes started roaming her body. An uncomfortable gaze. "How about money? Lots of it."

"Just how much, my dear lady?" Zevran's eyes didn't turn from her body. "Or... we could make other arrangements, you know..."

"500 sovereigns." Zevran's eyes popped up now, his gaze very attentive. He was interested.

"And where are you getting that much money, if you don't mind me asking?"

"From Adrian, once he's dead." Despite how she was resolving herself to take revenge, the thought of killing him was not ingraining itself into her head as fast as Rayne was hoping. "He's chancellor, so you can help yourself to any of his belongings once he's painting the floor red."

"That might actually be a good idea." Zevran rubbed his chin thoughtfully. For a few agonizing moments, he considered the deal. "High chance of death, but high rewards. Ever so tempting..."

Rayne actually found herself hoping he accepted the deal. She hated the contradictions within her. She thought she loved Adrian, yet wanted revenge for her betrayal. Now she was unsure about whether she liked the thought of killing him or not, yet wanted Zevran, of all the elves in Thedas, to help her.

"Very well. I'll take your deal." Rayne wasn't sure whether to feel relieved or anxious. "But don't be surprised if I lure you to my own bed, if you know what I mean. I can be quite... persuasive."

"I don't care why you're helping me." Rayne scoffed. "If fantasizing about me makes the job easier, know that I don't care."

"So I'm free to think lascivious thoughts? How pleasing." Zevran purred. "But before you rush off to get yourself killed, I believe we can get help."

"Help?"

"Yes, from an old friend of ours."

ooo

"And if I'm right, many people will die."

"If you're wrong...?" Ryal walked side by side with R, dark walls of the sewer close around them. R had decided to bring Ryal with him, back to D's hideout where R said a necessary part of his "plan" lay waiting. R didn't elaborate, but Ryal had an idea of what R was trying to do.

"Nonsense. My schemes always succeed." R laughed. "How do you think I survived so long in Denerim? Crime here isn't a dinky summer waltz. People die."

"I'm more than aware."

"Then you understand my point. Sacrifices must be made."

"But involving innocents-"

"Nobody is innocent."

Ryal sighed. R was being just as cryptic as usual. He only gave scant information on what he had in mind, but Ryal still wasn't sure what to think. All he knew was that a purchase was going to be made, and that the success of whatever R planned hinged on this.  
Should he disrupt it, then? If whatever is so important that happens doesn't go down properly, then R's plans might flop...

But that would likely mean Ryal won't make it out alive. That wasn't appealing. Somehow Ryal got the feeling that he won't last long if he messed with R. The green hooded man was a mage, after all. If push came to shove, one fireball would make quick work of him. Ryal had no illusions of becoming human roast, so that was no logical plan.

"Where are we going, R?"

"You'll see." And the older man fell silent, his enigmatic gaze fixated forward. Ryal would get no more answers from him.

ooo

Saul approached the chamber, breath held instinctively. A man, his head cloaked in shadows, sat upon an elevated throne, one made of various discarded substances. A rotten, desecrated throne of trashed wood and scraps of metal.

The entire room resembled the beat up, disgusting throne. Tattered men and women, walls, weapons. The stench was unbearable, but the sight was worse.

"Young Cousland." The man on the throne stood. "My condolences for your wench."

Saul clenched his fists but said nothing. On the stretcher to his side, Myr moaned in pain. She was still unconscious as far as Saul could tell. The sight of her only made him angrier. Who were these men? What right did they have to attack him?

"You're probably wondering why you're in this situation." The man atop the throne chuckled. "You nobles are all the same. What righteous revenge are you plotting in your head, Cousland? You going to get Fergus to find us and give us the rope?"

Saul just stared. He was surrounded, so there was little point trying to escape.

"No response? The great Saul Cousland won't even spare a thought for a low-born like me?" the man scoffed. "Not even D is mighty enough for your kind?"

"You can put a throne under your ass, but it don't make you a king. You mean nothing to me." Saul smirked. "I killed many of your men, yet you dare to taunt me?"

"Such bravado! Yet you're the one that is shackled and vulnerable." The man, D, jumped off his throne, landing in front of Saul. He was older than expected, wizened with years of hard life, but there was fire in his eyes, passion. D placed a knife against Saul's throat, menacing him.

"Go ahead. Kill me. But that would defeat the purpose of bringing me here, wouldn't it?" Saul's smirk grew into a smile.

D paused. Suddenly, he lashed out, fist slamming into Saul's cheek. The noble stepped backwards, off balance, blood on his lips. It doesn't matter how much pain you've endured, a punch always hurts.

"Keep smiling, boy. I've done that and worse to many of you nobles." D spit, globules of dirty saliva mixing with the slightly moist stone floor. "It's fun to watch the horror in their faces. The moment they realize their lives are about to end is the funniest. Their jaws go slack, the light fades from their eyes. Then they go in hysterics."

Saul knew all too well. He had tortured men before.

"And then they start pleading." Saul stood, blood dripping from his mouth. D continued. "That's when you know you've won. Their speech goes from arrogant and cocky, demanding they are returned lest their fathers attack to wild and fervent, wracked with sobs and crying."

Saul straightened himself. D was taller than he was, his face matted with dirt. Bags under his eyes, he looked as if he hadn't slept well for weeks. Saul knew the feeling.

"I'm not like other nobles." Saul's words were rewarded with another blow, this time to his stomach. The young Cousland doubled over, fighting the urge to vomit.

"You all say the same thing." Saul struggled to look upwards, to keep his eyes on D. "You're a man. All men can bleed. All men can die."

D's gaze traced back to Myr.

"And so can all women..."

"Touch her and I'll kill you." Saul took a step forward, trying to keep himself standing. One of D's men gripped him from behind, keeping him back.

"I'll do more than touch her, boy. She's quite pretty." Saul yelled, jumping forward. The men behind him grabbed him, punching, kicking, dragging him to the ground. Saul could see D through the chaos of arms, of legs, of angry faces. He only seemed weary.

And that face stayed in Saul's mind long after he closed his eyes, blocking out the pain. Eventually, he stopped feeling the blows. But even subconsciously, he knew he would have his revenge.

ooo

"Violence is always a pleasant sight, and so predictable in your domain, D." R and Ryal emerged into the twilight of D's throne room. Ryal recognized the place as where he delivered the letter, but now there were two prisoners there, an albino girl and a vaguely familiar man being beaten.

"You're finally here, you old bastard." R and D approached each other. D smiled, holding out his hand. R took it eagerly.

"I can't decline an invite from an old friend." R smiled back, but then his face turned grim. "If only every visit could be one of leisure. Judging by the bloody mess on the floor, these are the people I asked for?"

"Indeed." D pointed at the albino, unconscious on a mat, the to the bloody man lying on the floor being beaten by D's men.

"Can you call off your disciples, please? I'd hate for Saul to get too hurt." D nodded, then waved his hand. The black clad men stopped immediately, worming their way back into the darkness. R sighed. "The paradox of sadism. People derive pleasure from another person's pain. Was it really necessary to beat him?"

"He's noble."

"Nobility simply denotes arrogance of the parent, not of any particular personality trait." K approached the man, bending over to check his pulse. Ryal still said nothing, knowing his role was one of being a bodyguard and nothing more. "To be noble is to be a slave of society, no more than a peasant is."

"Forget that, R. Why did you want me to capture them?" D furrowed his brow as R checked Saul over. Ryal knew he was checking his health, but he was taking an undue amount of care about it.

"Why, isn't it obvious?" R smiled. "He's my key to getting at Adrian."


	13. Insanity vs Semantics

**Chapter 12: Insanity vs. Semantics**

_"You need to take me to Mouse." No reaction. She just stood there, her thousand-yard stare emptily surveying the distance. Standing behind her, Adrian could see a faint rim of light surrounding her, distinct from the whiteness that enveloped them. He felt her detachment, her indifference to events that had unfolded around them. Was it emotional numbing from repeated exposure? Or did she simply not care?_

_ "Why?" A puzzling response, one Adrian wasn't sure how to react to. Before he had a chance to retort, she continued. "What's the point? Why bother staying alive? What is your life worth?"_

_ "Idiotic questions." Adrian scoffed. "I don't need a reason to want my body back."_

_ "So you're content with aimlessly struggling?"_

_ "It isn't aimless." What was she driving at?_

_ "You humans..." She shook her head. "Every one of you is the same. Your thoughts inexplicably point at the immediate gains, the present pleasures, but never towards the distant future."_

_ "What does the future matter? I just want my body back. It's pretty simple."_

_ "But Why?" The implications of her probing were eluding Adrian, it seemed. The mage shook his head, chuckling. She turned, anger on her face. "Why do you laugh? I'm asking you seriously!"_

_ "What's the point of living?" Adrian locked his eyes with hers. She didn't flinch, the meaning of his question not seeming to sink in. "Humans, and all of existence, struggle to live. Why? Do we need a reason?"_

_ "There must be one, considering why you try so hard." She narrowed her eyes. "Whatever it is that drives you, it continues to elude me."  
"We live because we want to. We fight for survival because death brings us no comfort. The unknown is feared, and death embodies all of the greatest mysteries of our time. What better way to comfort ourselves than to evade that?"_

_ "Your kind thinks they return to the Maker's side when they die to live eternally in heaven. If you think this there is no point to living, especially when one can be happier in the afterlife." Adrian smiled at that. For such a young girl, she was perceptive. She wasn't normal, but was that intelligence natural, or caused by Urthemiel?_

_ "In case you didn't notice, me and the big guy upstairs don't view eye to eye. If he does exist, I definitely won't be partying it up with Andraste and the like when I die." Still they stared at each other. Neither flinching, neither wavering. But why was she insistent on this point? "Besides, humanity doesn't need the Maker, regardless of whether he truly exists or not."_

_ "Why not? Humans need authority to keep them in line."_

_ "No we don't. Fear, perhaps, but that won't make for a utopian society. To create true happiness for all of the sentient races, authority would only diminish that cause."_

_ "You honestly think your pathetic kind is capable of survival in an anarchistic society? You're a fool." She turned her head, apparently dismissing the notion entirely. "People try so hard to survive, believing they will be rewarded for their good works in an apparent afterlife. Only rumors of reward makes them good people. Without this society would devolve into chaos. Your kind is selfish, uncaring for others. Without the Maker to pat them on the head and tell them good job they would rape, kill and plunder to their hearts content."_

_ "Sounds like fun." Adrian shrugged.  
"For the perpetrators, perhaps. I imagine the victim would be less than satisfied."_

_ "Humans, and all of the sentient races, are complicated. We are full of contradictions, of lies, of perceived truths as well as geniality. Death separates us from the familiar, as we cannot prove what comes after. People prefer the Maker because afterlife sounds so much better than being nonexistant for the rest of eternity. It's just taking the easy way out."_

_ "That's not logical, Father." Now it was her turn to scoff. "If the people prefer the Maker, why would he be unnecessary? Anarchists generally don't run about expounding upon the benefits of a strong government."_

_ "Maybe logic isn't the best way to explain humanity? We have mass murderers being hailed as champions of justice, lying hypocrites and traitors ruling us with thunderous applause and close-minded persecution running rampant in Ferelden. Yet I still saved it. Did I need the Maker for that? I controlled a misfit band of murderers, drunks, religious zealots and atheistic apostates well enough to kill Urthemiel, didn't I? I don't recall the Maker extending his almighty hand to help out a little. Regardless of the absence of authority, I did my job."_

_ "You didn't answer my question!" She shouted, anger suddenly open on her face. Surprised, Adrian took a step back. The sudden display of emotion was unexpected, to say the least. "The people you saved didn't deserve to live! Loghain should have died for his crimes! Zevran betrayed you, yet he lived! Anora took the throne, despite how she'd proven herself a traitorous bitch! The innocents of Redcliffe were deemed unimportant, so you cast them aside! There truly is no reason for living, Adrian! The authority was YOU! People blindly followed you because you were their hope! And what did you do? You nitpicked who was worthy of surviving, and eagerly abandoned those you deemed unworthy! You're damning actions piss on the former beauty of Ferelden."_

_ "Wait... That's not what I was-"_

_ "This world is fucked, yet so many possess the harebrained notion that they can somehow help it, somehow save it! And the only ones who succeed are murderers like you!" She was bristling with anger now. "It never works. It only gets worse. Even though you slew the Archdemon, the consequences of that will haunt this world until the end of time! If there was a Maker, he should have stopped you. You should have died at Ostagar."_

_ Adrian didn't respond. He wasn't sure how, as she seemed an entirely different person. It somehow seemed familiar, however. A cornered rage, an insistent struggle... almost like..._

_ "Do you consider yourself human?" Adrian shot in quickly, just as she was about to start ranting again. She paused when Adrian spoke, her anger replaced by a genuine astonishment._

_ "What are you-"_

_ "I certainly think of myself as human, despite everything." Adrian smiled. "Morrigan said I was something else, you said that too. Hell, I think Mouse has been pushing that thought in my head too, but he's been fucking with me for awhile. I don't view myself as an abomination, or a blood mage, or a reaver, or anything that circumstance threw upon me. I live, I breathe as a human. When I killed a man for the first time, even though they were just bandits outside of Lothering, I could hardly contain myself. Death was never my intention or my purpose."_

_ "But..."_

_ "I may hate the Maker, I may hate the templars, and I may indiscriminately smite those who seek to right my perceived wrongs, but I still value life." Adrian stepped forward, straightening his back. "Who cares about morality, or ethics, or even beauty? Who cares who betrays me, or which seductress is leading me by the loins at whatever given moment? All that matters to me is living, and that extends to others as well."_

_ "And this is because you're human?"_

_ "Maybe. In life, nothing is static, circumstances can change at any time, and if you try hard enough, existence can be worthwhile. We don't need a god to guide us or a King to force us in line. People can guide themselves. What more reason do we need to live?"_

_ She didn't respond, but instead backed away, finally lowering her gaze._

_ "It's illogical."_

_ "So?"_

_ "You're a mage, a smart one at that. Why do you bother with the unreasonable?"_

_ "Maybe the unreasonable matters?" Adrian stepped forward, laying a hand on her shoulder. To his surprise, she turned away, brushing his hand off._

_ "Go away." Adrian cocked his head in wonderment._

_ "What are you getting at?"_

_ "It means I not longer see a reason to help you."_

_ Odd. Did he just hear right?_

_ "You..."_

_ "If all humans are capable of is being stupid, I see no reason to help them. You have not shown yourself to be a man capable of reason despite everything, Father." She chuckled. "And yet you somehow killed Urthemiel. You somehow inspired a nation, changed the course of time itself. I would ask how you did it, but I know it is because people are drawn to irrationality."_

_ "So you're just going to leave me here? Alone?"_

_ "Yeah. Without me around, you're likely to be sucked back into Mouse's trap or consumed by his ever-hungry soul."_

_ "Wait!" Adrian reached out again, hoping to grab her, to stop her somehow. He didn't understand. Why would she try so hard to free him, only to leave him at the last second? Why did she seem so upset?_

_ "Have fun." Adrian's hand descended upon her shoulder, but it touched nothing. She was gone. His daughter had abandoned him, deep within Mouse's clutches._

_ He was alone._

ooo

"An informant?" Rayne followed uncertainly. "Why didn't you mention this before we went into the castle? We nearly died!"

"Ohoho, don't go blaming that situation on me, my sweet homicide-inclined friend." Zevran chuckled as he led the way through the sewer, dim green light guiding them through the tunnels. "We both know that was your fault."

Rayne didn't respond. Instead her eyes fell to the floor, her mind wandering again. It was a lot to wrap her mind around. After all, it wasn't every day that someone vows to kill the one they love. Every step she took felt like a mistake, but to turn around would be to die.

"Rayne?" After a small while of walking in silence, the elf girl was jostled from her thoughts when Zevran stopped suddenly, turning slightly to look at her. Rayne bumped into him absentmindedly, swiftly recoiling when she noticed she had spaced out.

For a second their eyes met. Zevran held his sly grin, but somewhere behind it Rayne could see something deeper. Something steely and unwavering. It was odd how she never noticed it before, but beyond that permanent smirk of his lay a different person altogether. An unforgiving person, one who could kill with a heartbeat.

Suddenly his smile seemed less lewd and more a mask, a cover for the stone heart of a killer. An off-putting act that could fool the greatest of observers, one infinitely useful for a seductive assassin. Zevran suddenly seemed more than an opportunistic scoundrel... or was it just a clever act?

"Not that I mind, but do you plan on clutching me so closely the entire way through?" And suddenly that small window through his smile was gone, replaced by the simple joviality her usually portrayed. "I mean, we could do more than simply hold each other, though this sewer is quite a nauseating place to perform such acts in. Then again, I've done worse..."

It was then that Rayne noticed she had gripped Zevran, each hand positioned just so that she could easily flip, stab, overpower or strangle him. She must have latched onto him instinctively. Most likely her subconscious was warning her how little she could trust this elf. He may have been through some harsh scrapes with her, but he was still a Crow. And considering he betrayed once before already...

"It's nothing." Rayne let go, letting her hands slip down to her sides before turning away. It served as a slight return to reality, though. Despite Zevran's claim to wanting to help her, she couldn't trust him.

She knew she couldn't trust anyone now. Not Zevran. Not the informant. Not Adrian.

Maybe it was better that way?

"Come on, my lady. There's no point waiting around in filth and muck all day, is there?" Zevran had already moved forward. Rayne hadn't noticed because of her focus on her thoughts. That was a bad sign. If she was going to murder Adrian, she needed to be alert all of the time. There was no room for mistakes, as she would likely only get one more chance. "The informant is not too terribly much farther."

"Right..." The two continued walking in silence. Rayne once again retreated back into her thoughts. Events in the past day were barely comprehensible to her. Shocking, yes. Believable? Hardly. Acceptable? Definitely not.

Everything seemed less real, less static. Even her own mind, that which she had long since held as sanctuary, was invaded by rampant thoughts of the betrayal. She couldn't block it out, like she did with all the other troubles.

Shianni's rape and the hatred from the Alienage? Child's play. Soris' death and her imprisonment? Lamentable, but forgettable. Zevran's betrayal? Expected. But Adrian's...

Rayne blinked away tears, hoping Zevran didn't notice. In times like this, it is best not to let anyone know of your vulnerabilities. She needed to become as steel, solid and resolute, unwavering and strong. She needed to become demonic in any sense of the word. Adrian would not die peacefully. He would know her fear. Her pain.

"Here we are!" Again Zevran's voice pierced her thoughts. Her mild annoyance with his disturbing her was swiftly replaced by a slight sense of awe however, as the room they had emerged into was far from what the sewer they traveled in was.

It was not a large room, but its simple elegance somewhat mystified Rayne. A single wooden desk stood in the center of a small room, a stool behind it. However, what caught her eye was how the dimly lit room was overgrown with plants, ones of all species and varieties, flowering and not. A metal grate hung over one of the corners, and the bustling from above unnerved Rayne.

They were under the Alienage. Suddenly afraid, Rayne gripped the pommel of her weapon. What was Zevran trying to pull, bringing her here? Rayne wasn't welcome in this place. Did the elves want revenge?

"I would have preferred you hadn't brought _her _along, Zev." Rayne spun to the familiar voice. Shianni stood in the passageway they had entered from. How she had gotten behind them, Rayne could not tell. "Still, no matter. Her presence only makes my prices jump, which is fine by me."

"My sweet! How brusque and vicious to your customers, as always! How refreshing." Zevran smiled, raising his arms in greeting. To Rayne's surprise, Shianni maneuvered herself into his arms, kissing him softly. "Your radiance puts the sun and moon to shame, as always. Soon enough you'll outshine the Maker himself! Or have you done that already?"

Rayne looked away, uncomfortable by the sight before her. Who were they to enjoy each others company while she was miserably plotting for her lovers demise? The two broke soon enough, but Shianni remained in Zevran's arms as she turned to Rayne.

"I assume you two are already acquainted." Zevran smirked.

"We're cousins." Rayne found herself unable to look in Shianni's eyes, but the fire-headed elf stared back viciously, unafraid.

"Really? Cousins?" Zevran's eyes went wide. "And here I thought you two were simply the best of friends. Say, Shianni... since you're close with this woman, we could invite her to one of our..."  
"No, Zevran." Shianni sighed, hanging her head. "Your mind is always on such vulgarities. We are cousins no longer, in any regard."

"But we have enough chains for three!" Zevran pouted. "Am I never going to get a chance to use that new whip?"

"Your fantasies are not the reason you came here, Zevran. Speak your request, and if you've the coin, I may give you some information." Shianni resumed staring at Rayne, her gaze cold and unrelenting. There was no malice, no anger in them. Only... emptiness.

"Straight to the whoring of information, yes? As always, you never fail to humor me, Shianni, my love." Zevran planted a kiss atop her head. The intimacy of it surprised Rayne, but she made no comment. "We need to get at Adrian. To kill him. I'm sure your new friends would know something of that dark nature, yes? You've been quite fast in tying up contacts since you started this business."

"Adrian? Really?" Shianni pulled away gently, meandering to the stool. She sat down, laying her head on her hands. "He's been a popular guy lately."

"Any particular reason?" Rayne asked, her voice unintentionally harsh. Shianni shot a stare at her, somewhat angered.

"Normally, it would cost someone a sovereign. Since you brought _her_, Zevran, the price is doubled. No... tripled." Shianni smirked at Rayne. "It takes a lot of coin to talk freely in the company of those you despise."

Zevran muttered, but pulled out three shining, golden coins. He lay them on the desk, somewhat reluctantly. Rayne felt as if she could hear Zevran mentally reassure himself of how much he'll be paid back. Shianni swiped them, depositing them into a small satchel at her waist.

"Don't be alarmed, you two, but your job might not actually be too hard." Shianni smiled as she spoke. "As much as I'd love for you to die, Rayne, you are not the only ones wishing for Adrian's head."

"Explain yourself." Rayne stepped forward, almost unintentionally. A habit, most likely formed when she was busy interrogating every lowlife she could find.

"There's talk of a rebellion. A big one." Shianni smiled again. "Adrian's gonna get overthrown, and us Alienage elves are going to enjoy it quite a bit."

ooo

"Wake up, young one." A snide voice and a bucket of cold water dragged Saul from unconsciousness. Saul remembered clearly the boots and hands that beat at him. He remembered their faces. Once he was free, he'd... Free? He wasn't chained. In fact, he wasn't even gagged or bound in any way.

"Where am I?" Saul growled, taking in his surroundings. He was in some sort of building, one with no windows. He lay atop a long table, one obviously used for seating and feeding a large number of people. A cafeteria?

"Of course! He starts with the obvious questions!" An odd sight greeted him. The old man from the Gnawed Noble Tavern, the one who told him the locations of Thomas and Delilah, stood over him, smiling. One of the mercenaries that chased him into the Market District the day before leaned against the wall. He was of brutish size, his muscles easily noticeable. "Not that I blame you, considering the circumstance. Waking up in strange places, uncertain of how you got there or what you were doing the night before is quite distressing, no?"

"You could put it that way..." Saul sat up slowly, nursing his head. He could feel some bruises, and his head hurt like hell but he didn't seem badly hurt. More importantly... "Where's Myr?"

"She's fine. For now." Another smile crossed the hooded man's face. Odd. He had perfectly straight, white teeth. Not a usual trait for anyone in Denerim. "And I mean that quite literally. Her condition could change at any moment, depending on what you do from here on out."

"Are you threatening me?" Saul bared his teeth, grabbing the hooded man by the shirt, dragging his face close. The large man reached for a sword, but the hooded man waved him off.

"Are you assuming I'm frightened of you, boy?" A sharp cackle, followed by some coughing. "Do not think so highly of yourself! Even if you do succeed in slaying me, unlikely as hell that it is, you would be so sufficiently injured as to never make it out of here alive, let alone make it to that pretty girlfriend of yours in time to save her."

"I can find a way." Saul didn't back down, hands still clenched on the man's shirt. "I always do."

"And I'm certain your powers of adaptation and observation are so advanced as to be able to ascertain the position of Myr in time to save her before she meets an untimely demise?" For a criminal and kidnapper, this man was incredibly literate. And sarcastic. Saul never really had a liking for intelligent smart-asses. "Flattering yourself gets you nowhere."

Saul growled, but let the man go. He neatly stepped back and adjusted his hood, still smiling. This man, whoever he was, definitely was not a usual Ferelden. For some reason or another, Saul believed it when the hooded man said he wouldn't be easy to kill.

"Let's not tarry on trivial matters, though." The man's tone had an almost sing-song quality to it, as if something was amusing him greatly. Or maybe he was mentally unsound? Same difference. "My title is R, and my name is mine alone. I know already you are Saul Cousland."

"I'm betting my standing has something to do with kidnapping me and Myr?" Saul sighed, hanging his head. It was his fault that Myr got injured... "Where is she? I want to see her."

"You're not in much position to be making demands, Master Cousland." Another smile from R. "I always knew boys like you would only prove to be trouble to her..."

"Speak sense or speak not at all! Where is Myr!" Saul felt his anger rising. Instinctively, he reached for his saber but, naturally, it wasn't there.

"She's probably in some room somewhere, hands clutched together at her bosom, praying in her high pitched, affirmatively female voice, saying something like '_Oh, save me Saul, save me! I can't do anything without you! Blah, blah, blah. I'm useless without you!_'" Saul clutched at the edge of the table, suppressing his anger. The man leaning against the wall picked up on Saul's body language, keeping a hand on his sword. "Isn't that how those tales go? Boy meets girl, boy and girl fuck, boy and girl get kidnapped, boy valiantly rescues the damsel in distress, fighting his way out, slaughtering thousands of bad guys in the epitome of ballsy manliness?"

"You're insane." Saul scanned the room again. Not much of a chance to escape. Despite the size of the room, the actual potential for escape was very low. There were only two doors, one blocked by the large man, and the other blocked by a large desk.

"People have said that before. I prefer to think of it as me being the only sane one, and the rest of you bastards having lost your marbles. Or maybe I'm a good actor? Who cares?" Another wide smile, but it soon darkened. "Of course, acting cannot last forever. I need your help."

"And if I refuse?"

"Myr dies. I think it's an easy choice for you, right?" R turned away, clasping his hands behind his back. "I need you, and you need me, because you need Myr. In a way, we've become some sort of twisted family based upon the desires of each other being met by the actions of the others. I like that."

"What do I need to do?"

"Talk to your brother for me."

"It can't be that simple. What does Fergus have that you want? Do you aspire for the position of Teyrn, or something?"

"Hah! As if my goal was that easy! No. I need you because I need your title. Your name gives my job a sense of legitimacy, and that's what the public will want."

"Your words make no sense."

"I'm starting a rebellion." R smiled, widening his arms. "One that could change the fiber of the Ferelden political game. After all, Adrian is hardly fit to lead us."

"And you want me to get Fergus on your side?" Saul sighed. Politics never left a good taste in Saul's mouth.

"Very good!" R turned, a smiled again gracing his face. "You're not nearly as much of an insufferable fool as I had hoped! That will make you much harder to manipulate! I commend you."

Saul rolled his eyes. Whoever this man was, whatever he was planning, it wouldn't end well. Still, he needed to rescue Myr. He'd do anything for her.

"But before you go and talk to dear old big brother, you're going to need to kill a few people, stir up some unrest in Denerim. We need a reason to overthrow Adrian, after all." R seemed ecstatic, for some unforeseeable reason. "Currently we only have rumors, scared people and a few guards beating up nobodies. We need something big."

"Wonderful. Who's the first target, _master?"_

"Hey, Ryal! We've netted one with a sense of humor!" And the smile was gone again. "I hope you're as good at killing as you are with cracking jokes, young Cousland. If not, Myr's head might find itself with a bad case of detachment."


	14. Manipulation

**Chapter 13: Manipulation**

_Adrian wasn't sure how long he lay there. Seconds? Months? Decades? It didn't matter. The mind has a tendency to wander, but when there's nothing to wonder about, it simply empties. Time becomes irrelevant, even more so when there's nothing to do._

_ It was almost alien to be completely alone. Before a few minutes ago, his daughter had kept him company. Before then, Mouse was ever-present, invading his thoughts even when he sought solitude. Before Mouse, the mages and templars of the Circle Tower had always been a few steps away. In the Circle Tower, there was no such thing as privacy._

_ But now there weren't even birds chirping, or small animals rustling through undergrowth. All that surrounded Adrian was an eternal white. No distinguishing features, no recognizable up or down. There wasn't even air, as a mental projection of oneself needed no such physical sustenance._

_ Truth be told, no situation in real life could replicate such an empty state. There was no physical stimulus, nothing to fix your vision upon. There weren't even any more memories to walk through, to re-experience. All he was left with was confusion._

_ And then he started to sleep._

_ His dreams spoke of times long forgotten, nights of keeping watch in camp with Leliana, or drinking with Alistair and Oghren, or chatting about philosophy with Sten, or arguing with Morrigan. Even though the threat of imminent demise hung over every moment, every painful step, Adrian still missed it._

_ In a way, being recruited by Duncan was the best thing that had ever happened to him. It saved him from a life of subjugation and emptiness. Without Duncan, Adrian would have lived and died a nobody in the Tower, accomplishing nothing._

_ He would never have saved Ferelden, he would never have met Rayne. But he would also wouldn't be stuck in the mind of a Pride demon._

_ Adrian knew why this happened. He drew too much power from Mouse in the final battle with the Archdemon. He lost control in exchange for power. He killed Urthemiel, but lost himself in the process. Morrigan's ritual was useless after all, and had produced... something else._

_ His daughter didn't refer to herself as human, or even as Urthemiel. She had a superior intellect, fighting ability and the biting sarcasm of her mother. As much as Adrian tried, he couldn't understand the way she thought, the way she acted. At times she'd seem saddened by cruelty, and other times seem utterly unaffected or even joyful around it._

_ In truth, Adrian had no clue how much time had passed, he'd been asleep too long to know. A whiteness had been replaced by blackness, emptiness, left to his thoughts for time unknown. His daughter could already have lived out her lifespan and he'd be none the wiser._

_ She was a mystery in every sense of the word. She was the daughter of an abomination, imbued with the soul of the Archdemon of Beauty, mothered by a woman with no humanity. How would she turn out? How would she influence the world? Adrian couldn't tell._

_ But now his sleep was ending, a light breaking through the cracks of his vision. Except... he could see a ceiling? And someone was shaking him?_

_ "Adrian, wake up. Please, hurry." Eyes had now shot open, but Adrian didn't do it. He turned his head in alarm... no. He didn't. He couldn't move his head. He move any part of his body, but he was moving still._

_ "Mother... why are you waking me so early...?" The voice that escaped his lips was familiar. It was his own... but not. Too high pitched and irregular. He was... a child? "I can't even see the sun yet..."_

_ Adrian's eyes, or what he thought was his eyes, opened wide. A familiar face stood over him, a worried expression adorning it. A face Adrian had not seen in an eternity. His mother, rushing him to awaken, stood over him. Already she was starting to help him get dressed._

_ This was a memory, one of his childhood. Back before the Circle Tower, before his magic... before..._

_ "Make sure you put on the extra sweater, son." His mother left him then, retreating to another room of the house. Adrian felt himself stand, straightening his shirt. There was someone banging on the door, yelling._

_ He knew this memory. It was not a happy one._

_ "Mother... Mother? Who's at the door?" And now he was maneuvering through the cramped space of his bedroom, struggling to get into the living room. "I'll get it, Mother."_

_ "No!" And suddenly she was there again, ushering him back. Adrian could feel his face crinkle in confusion. "Stay here. I'll get it. Just... don't be a nuisance to our guests, okay?"_

_ Adrian's head nodded, a tuft of black hair swinging into his eyes. As his hand removed it, his mother unlatched the door, revealing two imposing figures in shining silver armor, the Sword of Mercy emblazoned proudly upon the chest plate. One, a woman with a fierce expression, and the other an older man with a stern expression. Adrian thought he could see a sandy-haired boy meekly standing a few feet behind them._

_ "Lady Amell." The woman in armor stood at attention, surveying the house. Likely she was already regretting addressing her as Lady, considering the shoddy, moldy nature of the house. "We're here for the boy."_

_ "Wha-but why? Did he get in trouble with Master Harriet again? I-I've already scolded him for stealing his tomatoes..." Adrian could see the worry on his mother's face. At the time, he had no idea why, but now he understood the scene much better. She was afraid._

_ "You are aware of the incident with Sergio a few days ago, aren't you?" The lady didn't change the expression on her face. "Your son has displayed signs of magic use, nearly killing the poor man in the process. We're here to take him the Circle Tower."_

_ "You can't! You're mistaken!" His mother was shouting now, Adrian thought he could see water in her eyes. "My son has done nothing wrong! He's a good kid... He isn't a mage!"_

_ "It is my duty as a Templar to protect Ferelden from mages like your son. This is for his own good, as well as the good of all the nation." Adrian could feel himself back up. He stumbled over a cup on the ground, falling to the ground with a loud thud, knocking over a chair. The female templar snapped her head towards where Adrian lay, taking a step towards him._

_ "He's my son!" His mother blocked her path, gripping her arm. A mistake. The female templar's other hand shot out, landing a metal-plated backhand across Adrian's mother's face. She fell back, knocked to the floor, where she lay with a shocked, numb expression on her face._

_ "Ser Henric, grab the boy." The other templar strode towards Adrian, grabbing his arm and pulling him upwards, more gently than Adrian had expected. Adrian struggled, calling out to his mother, but Henric kept him in place. The gentleness was a facade._

_ "Lady Amell, this is for your son's own good. He is a danger to society and must not be permitted to jeopardize the safety of this village with his continued presence." His mother didn't respond, only hanging her head, a steady stream of tears running down her cheeks. "You will never see him again. This is the way that it has to be."_

_ The female templar strode out of the room. Adrian could feel his own eyes fill with tears, anger in his heart at the woman. Adrian could feel his child-form's emotion. He wanted nothing more than to run to his mother, to escape from the cold grip of Ser Henric as he dragged Adrian outside._

_ "Mommy!" Adrian called out, struggling in vain. She didn't even look up. She seemed empty, defeated. "Mommy!"_

_ A visage of tragic proportions, it seemed. Adrian knew that all the Fereldens who could possibly have witnessed this scene would overlook it as necessary. Their views were tainted with the mistake that mages were evil, vile creatures that could turn into abominations at any moment._

_ What Ferelden wouldn't see was a mother torn from her only child. They wouldn't see the evil in the templars actions. And forever after, Adrian always held this thought in his mind. As he trained as a mage, ever watched by the templars, he never forgot the templar's actions. They were given viability by their false prophet, Andraste. They abused this power with the false front of protecting the masses._

_ Adrian swore on that day, despite being only six years old, that he would have his revenge._

ooo

Bann Rodrigo, minor lord of the Landsmeet, vehement opposition against Adrian. For all intents and purposes he was useless, despite his nobility. But his death could serve a far greater purpose, from what R said.

Saul didn't care why R wanted this particular man dead. All he cared about was Myr, but R still explained it. R liked talking.

Bann Rodrigo had too much empathy. He cared for the sick, he cared for the poor, the elves, everyone. He donated money to orphanages, and overall made himself a saint. And thus he had to die. The blame would be put on Adrian, weakening his status and, by extension, the tolerance the people held for him

According to R, Rodrigo was too passive to accomplish anything against Adrian, but he certainly talked a lot. He held conferences discussing the brutality against elves, the poor, police abuse, on and on about problems Adrian caused. But he would do nothing.

Saul spit. Men who talked and did nothing disgusted him. It was better to get the sword wet with the blood of enemies than to bat your eyelashes and hope the opposition disappears. Violence was beautiful. Pain was understandable. Sitting at a gilded conference table with a large number of other useless, fake nobles, discussing peaceful revolution but making no action would only make oneself out to be pathetic.

Bann Rodrigo held weekly banquets for other noble friends of his, those who identified with his pacifist ideals. They would eat, drink, and chat for hours while heavily intoxicated. Saul was going to crash the party.

The garb of the servant Saul left lying in a ditch fit easily enough, if a bit loose about the cuffs. He was already in the main kitchens, a vial of poison hidden up his sleeve. There was a slight sense of nostalgia about his poisonous mission. As a teenager he'd slip laxatives and other such wonderful concoctions into the drinks of those he didn't like, causing boundless distress. Of course, his current mission was far more dangerous, and mischievous intent wasn't what drove him.

These men would die because they had to, according to R. Their lives served no purpose, but their deaths could amount to so much more than they ever could in life.

"Garçon! Get yourself moving!" The Orlesian head-cook twirled his knife in front of Saul, drawing him from his thoughts. "The master is unforgiving if we're even slightly late. And do not forget the condiments! Bann Theodora puts ketchup and sugar on everything, and she throws a fit if they're not available!"

"Um... Right." Saul bowed his head slightly to acknowledge. He couldn't help but feel as if the rushed nature of this kitchen was similar to the one Nan managed back in Highever. If she was always in such a hurry, it was no wonder she snapped so easily...

Saul grabbed a tray of food carefully, making sure to balance it. It was harder than it looked, and elevating it above the sea of elf heads in the kitchen made it all the more difficult. Finally he emerged in the hallway, turning right. A few doors down was the dining room, where he could hear the nobles laughing, the clinking of their plates, cheers.

He felt his throat tighten, remembering the parties his mother and father would throw. They weren't much for delicacy, so they would be lively, disorganized drinking fests. Everyone would laugh, dirty jokes would be told every few seconds and the laughter was too much to not succumb to.

The young Cousland suppressed his memories. It wouldn't serve him well if he choked up now, just as he was so close to his target. He stepped out of the hallway and into the dining room, met with the chaos that was the drinking revelry of nobles. 8 men and women sat at a long table. All except the man at the head, Rodrigo, held large drinking pints.

"My lady." Saul bowed as he bent over the table, struggling to set the tray of food down in an empty space without disturbing the noble he was leaning over. The lady, if she could be called that, was hard to maneuver around, taking into account her considerable size. He accidentally nudged her shoulder, making her drop the chicken she was about to stuff in her mouth. "Excuse me, my lady."

"Hey! Boy!" She called out, just as he turned away. "Don't just 'scuse yerself and walk away! Apologize!"

Saul gritted his teeth, slowly turning. The fat slob had somehow rotated in her chair, and her voice had captured the attention of the other nobles. He had no time for this. If he missed the drinks, he wouldn't be able to poison Rodrigo.

"I'm sorry." Saul bowed curtly and turned away, striding towards the door. He didn't go far before a fleshy, flabby hand gripped the jacket of his waiter outfit. This woman was interfering!

"That ain't enough. I want you on yer knees, boy." Saul turned slowly, struggling to keep himself from punching her.

"I wonder if you'd even be able to do that, considering everything." Saul didn't mean to say it, but it came out anyway. A gasp erupted from the table. The fat lady's face went slack as she realized it was an insult, then it contorted in rage.

"How dare you insult your superior!" She slapped Saul. Hard. "Do you know who I am? Do you know how far below me you are?"

"No. And I couldn't care less. Considering your ugly mug, I wouldn't even want to listen to you speak. All that fat jingling about when you yell..." Saul leveled his gaze with the chubby lady. Silence fell over the dining room. Saul knew he was jeopardizing his chances to kill Rodrigo, but he couldn't help himself.

"That's quite enough!" A high pitched voice sounded, just in time to prevent the fat woman from screaming. It was Rodrigo, who had stood, slowly walking over to Saul. "What's your name, servant? Why are you being so rude!"

A pathetic man. His reputation of wothlessness preceded him, it seemed. Rodrigo emanated uselessness. Suddenly Saul agreed with R. It was better for him to be dead than alive. Still, the Bann kept moving forward. He was much shorter than Saul, but he got in his face anyway, replacing the fat lady.

"That is Lady Vena, of House Pardu!" Rodrigo's voice fell to a sharp whisper, lecturing Saul. "Show respect or I'll throw you in the dungeons! Apologize immediately and I may only give you lashes!"

Saul noticed an elf serve enter the room, wine and beer on his tray. Saul was too late. He'd missed the drinks. Oh well. He'd have to murder Rodrigo the old fashioned way. Luckily, the man was only inches away.

"No." Saul slowly shook his head. Rodrigo's eyes bulged in anger as he prepared to yell. He didn't get the chance.

Saul grabbed a knife from the table, plunging it into Rodrigo's neck. A dead-on puncturing of the jugular vein, if the bleeding was to be trusted. Fatal.

"Adrian sends his regards, Rodrigo." Saul pushed the dying man away, punching the fat lady as he bolted for the door.

Now he had to get out.

ooo

"How much further do we have to go?" Rayne asked, trudging along in the filth of the sewer carefully. The last week hadn't been kind, as the Alienage wasn't very hospitable. Rayne holed herself in her father's old house after forcibly evicting the current residents. She avoided all outside contact until Zevran approached her with news that Shianni had located the rebels.

"Not far, so shut up." Shianni's retort was quick and sharp in tone. Rayne glared forward at the red head. She had changed greatly since the time before Vaughan's attack. Gone was the jovial, alcoholic red head who cracked inappropriate jokes and lacked all social graces. Now she was somber, had gray-streaked hair and bags under her eyes. Shianni was no longer Shianni, mirroring how Rayne no longer Rayne.

"That's pretty rude, my love." Zevran smiled, glancing back at Rayne. The assassin was hardly understandable. He was completely driven by money it seemed, yet, almost ironically, he wound up chasing after Shianni's tail, who was ruined by it. Was he leading her on, just another source of enjoyment? Or did he genuinely care about her? Not that it should matter. Personal relationships didn't matter in business, and killing Adrian definitely counted as business. Maybe it was for the best for Rayne to detach herself from Adrian emotionally. Zevran too. One can never be too careful. After all, tragedy changes people. Some become more violent and reckless. Others withdraw. Still others mask their pain with jokes and lackadaisical attitudes.

Adrian, Shianni and herself. Three people that had been changed in epic proportions, for reasons most normal people wouldn't possibly be able to fathom. Darkness has a way of reaching everyone. Their hearts were clouded by horrible events in their life. But how did Adrian change so drastically in so short a time? And Shianni...

Rayne wasn't sure about how she should feel about Shianni. The red-head was her cousin, after all. They grew up together, played together constantly. They drank together, fought together. All that changed with 40 sovereigns.

Looking at Shianni now, following a few steps behind where she walked, eyes fixated ahead while Zevran joked, Rayne felt sadness. Regret.

It was alien to her. For the last year, she had brushed aside all that happened with rationalizations, excuses and deception. It was Rayne's fault this happened. If she hadn't taken Vaughan's offer, she would be back in the Alienage now. She never would have met Adrian, never been betrayed by him. She would never been imprisoned. Soris would be alive...

"This is it." Shianni and Zevran stopped at the red-head's word, as did Rayne. Shianni reached for the wall, pushing in an unseen stone. The wall reacted, shuddering as a door revealed itself in the stone, opening as a heavy grinding sound resonated through the sewer walls. In seconds, an opening showed itself where stone was before. Shianni strode in confidently.

They walked in an even darker tunnel than the sewer, if that was even possible. The curious, green light of Zevran's didn't do much to provide light, so they were forced to stumble about in the darkness. It didn't help that the floor was uneven.

After another few minutes of walking, Rayne thought she could see light up ahead. A thin line on the floor, illuminating a foot or so out from itself. A doorway. When they reached it, Shianni turned the knob slowly. It screeched and squeal, revealing a... prison?

The whole room seemed oddly familiar. There was a guard leaning against the door on the far end, looking to be asleep. His armor had a crest... Rayne wasn't sure why it looked so familiar, but she definitely recognized it.

Shianni strode up to the guard, tapping him on the shoulder. He dully acknowledged her, unlocking the door slowly, falling asleep against the wall again when it was done. The three elves passed through, the door slamming shut behind them.

And suddenly Rayne wished she had her weapons. The reason for the familiarity now made sense. Two men stood before them, unmistakable.

"Greetings again Rayne, Zevran." R nodded his head at each, a smile hidden under his green hood. "How nice of you to rejoin me. I believe you've met Taoran?"

ooo

If one wanted gossip, one went to the Gnawed Noble Tavern. And so Ryal sat, seated at the bar with a pint in hand, surrounded on both sides by drunks wailing about the various issues they've had in their lives.

As always, the tavern was filled with people. Made sense, considering no other tavern was active in the Market District. Ryal looked about, checking for conversations. If he listened in on one of them, he knw he might be able to discern the current state of affairs of Denerim, which is what R wanted him to do.

"They say Adrian's the one who stopped the rebuildin' of Fort Drakon." The patron to Ryal's right grumbled to another, taking a long swig of ale from a pint. "The man ain't doing nothing for Denerim. He's like every other politician, just servin' his own interests."

"We best be getting used to it, Geralde." The other man sighed, hanging his head. "The King and Queen won't be returning from Orlais for another few months. By then Adrian will have done all the damage he'd like."

"Rumor has it that the guards have been cracking down on merchants and whatnot. They say he's looking for someone." Geralde leaned in, lowering his voice as if to prevent anyone from overhearing. As that was exactly what Ryal was doing, it was a source of great strain for him. Still, he could make out what the man said next. "The guards were all asking for the same man. A storyteller by the name of Vilhm Madon. You ever hear of him?"

"Not at all. Maybe he wronged Adrian a bit? Like saying something bad, like we're doing right now." The other man looked around nervously. Ryal averted his gaze just as they locked eyes. "Adrian sounds dangerous, you know. I hear there's people that wanna take him out, remove him before he causes any more damage, you know?"

"Maybe it's best we don't talk about that sort of thing. It's treason." Geralde leaned back, taking another long swig. "So how 'bout them trees?"

Ryal focused back on his drink, swirling the foamy liquid about. So far, R and Taoran's plan was working. That didn't answer who designed the scheme, however. As far as Ryal knew, Taoran used to have no designs for conquest. All he wanted was money. And then he brings in R and everything changes. Taoran's views change, his demeanor is less suave and he becomes much more violent. But ever since Emer was executed he just locked himself in his room, refusing most meals.

R had taken over the Irregulars, for all intents and purposes. So maybe the insurrection was his idea after all? The man was mysterious enough. He was an informant for D's carta before joining the Irregulars and was known for his impeccable information. Then he turns out to be a mage, a healer no less, and a capable fighter despite his age.

The way he spoke, the way he acted, the way he thought all seemed alien. He was irrational, playful and sadistic just as much as he was logical, serious and merciful. His actions had no pattern and his very nature remained enigmatic.

Ryal stood, depositing a few bits on the table for the pint. He suddenly knew what he needed to do. He needed to find out more about R. He needed to investigate. If he knew who he was, maybe he could figure out what he was planning, and then...

"Bann Rodrigo has been murdered!" The shout resounded atop the bustle of the tavern. All went quiet. A man, dressed in a bloodied guard outfit, stood at the door, panting. He had slammed it open, nearly splintering the wood frame. "Killed in his own home by an assassin!"

"What!" The first patron to stand slammed his pint down. It was a redheaded knight, a guard from the palace. "Speak sense, man! What happened!"

"Ser Gilmore... I..." The man visibly shook. The bustle started to return, except in renewed fervor, shouts asking what happened resounded, conversations erupting on the nature of the assassination.

"Who sent the assassin!" Another shout rang out. It came from Geralde, who had stood as well. "Who committed this foul deed!"

"They found this thing afterward." The man held out a small pin. Ser Gilmore rushed over, taking it and examining it. After a few moments his mouth hung open, his head shaking slightly. "What is it, Ser?"

"It's..." Ser Gilmore turned to the crowd in the Tavern, which now universally went silent, awaiting his response. The knight gawked again, glancing down at the pin before speaking. "It's the crest of Adrian's personal guard. If the assassin had this, then..."

"Adrian sent the assassin!" Geralde rushed forward, taking the pin. "It truly is... Adrian ordered him to die. If you hadn't found this, Adrian would have been able to say anything about it! He could have made anything up!"

"The lying bastard!"

"He's no Hero of Ferelden!"

The crowd had worked itself into a frenzy, shouting and throwing things. A few fights broke out in the crowd of patrons between those who thought Adrian innocent and those who didn't. Within moments the tavern had devolved into anarchy, a giant mosh pit started by a simple guard in a bloody outfit and a red-head making an assumption. Ser Gilmore disappeared into the crowd, vanishing amongst the violence.

Ryal stood by the bar, avoiding flying chairs, cups, forks and people. The mercenary withheld a compulsion to laugh, instead just smiling and shaking his head. After awhile, he mumbled to himself.

"Damn it, R. You're good."


	15. Emotions and Adaptation

**Chapter 14: Emotions and Adaptation**

_"What's that?" Adrian saw his finger extend, gesturing at the necklace Ser Henric wore. It was simple silver with a small vial of blood on the end. "What's it do?"_

_ Adrian found he couldn't escape from inside his boy-self's head. He was forced to relive this memory, though it, mercifully, skipped through monotonous and non-notable parts. He was traveling to the Circle Tower with the templars and another boy. His name was Cullen, who was a templar-in-training. He was a few years older, but was considerably more respectful and less probing than the young Adrian. The female templar had introduced herself as Ser Rylock, but only after Adrian pried the name out of her after a half day's march of bickering._

_ "This is blood, young one." Ser Henric smiled, wrapping his fingers around the vial as he spoke. "Truth be told, you were not the only reason we journeyed to your village. There was an apostate there."_

_ "Really?" Adrian felt his eyes go wide. "Was it Saracin? He's always been a jerk to me."_

_ "Unfortunately, no." Ser Henric's eyes sparkled. "We can't tell you who. It's against the Templar Code."_

_ Adrian vaguely recalled this scene. Ser Henric was one of the few templars he liked at the time. In a way, his friendly and tolerant demeanor reflected Alistair's. Maybe that was the reason he got along so well with him? Unfortunately, most templars weren't like Ser Henric or Alistair. Ser Rylock was a more accurate description of the order: distant and emotionless._

_ "Don't talk of such things with the mage, Henric." Ser Rylock stood at the edge of the firelight, examining the impenetrable darkness surrounding their camp. "If he turns into an abomination and he knows of our secrets, he could..."_

_ "Enough with the dark thoughts, Rylock!" Ser Henric turned, annoyance on his older face. "He's only six! He's only just past half the age that most people show magical talent anyways. You shouldn't be so hard on him."_

_ "And if we're too easy?" Rylock shot back, angered."What would you tell the Revered Mother if we lose a six year old to a demon? He's dangerous, like all mages."_

_ "Why?" Adrian heard himself say. "Why am I such a bad person? My Mommy told me stories of mages. She said there were lots that helped defeat darkspawn in ancient blights."_

_ "They were Grey Wardens, boy. Often mages are left to run free if they join their order. It's a mistake, I say. We should lock you all up." Rylock scoffed. "All mages, no matter how old or how innocent-looking, are evil creatures. If I had it my way, you'd all be put down like the beasts you are."_

_ Adrian felt his eyes well up with tears, averting his eyes to his feet. What was a six year old supposed to think? Adrian would blame himself, convince himself that mages were evil._

_ "You're taking this too far, Rylock! The boy is too young to be ranting at him! You'll hurt his feelings." Ser Henric glared, narrowing his eyes. He put his hand on Adrian's back, patting him reassuringly._

_ "Feelings matter little. He needs to know how dangerous he is." Rylock turned, walking over to Adrian, fierce expression on her face. "Without control, you will become an abomination, and we will be forced to kill you."_

_ "S-So that's w-why you hit M-Mommy?" Adrian's tears were flowing freely now, nervously looking up at Rylock. Despite his sobbing, she didn't budge. Her eyes remained cold._

_ "That's enough of this. Rylock, you should stop, or I may have to report you to Greagoir." Ser Henric locked eyes with Rylock for a few seconds. Eventually, she caved, turning her back again. A few moments later, steps could be heard, trudging through the underbrush. Cullen emerged, firewood gripped in his hands._

_ "What'd I miss...?"_

_ooo_

_ The group moved quickly, covering ground fast. When Adrian's feet would grow sore, Ser Henric would lift the boy on his shoulders. The view was spectacular for Adrian, considering his small size._

_ Ser Rylock never warmed up to Adrian. Cullen remained distant, but Ser Henric was always there to cheer him up. He'd always make jokes, or tell interesting stories, or play games with him. Adrian found himself engrossed by the scenes. He had fond memories of Ser Henric._

_ That only made the discovery of the templar's death in Lothering even more painful. Adrian saw the body of a templar, helm covering the face. He was killed by those bandits. Adrian originally convinced the bandits to let them through, but also grew curious about the templar lying dead on the ground._

_ When they checked and the corpse revealed a man Adrian once viewed as a surrogate father, he snapped. Two bandits were blown to pieces by magic before anyone had a chance to react. A third followed soon after. When one fled, Alistair had to hold Adrian back._

_ But those memories were yet to happen. For now, Adrian was just a young boy in an unfamiliar environment, burdened by the brutalized memory of his mother and the fear of the unknown. He knew little beyond that he was considered dangerous, that Ser Rylock hated him and that he was being taken somewhere. A prison? An executioners block? He couldn't tell._

_ "There it is. Your new home." And sitting atop Ser Henric, drowsy after a day of traveling, Adrian had almost believed the majestic tower could be called such. Ser Henric smiled when he spoke, reassuring Adrian of future possibilities._

_ The small group stood at the edge of Lake Calenhad, eyes fixated upon the mages tower. The massive structure stood imposing and powerful, as if silently watching over the imprisoned mages inside, reminding them of their eternal torment. Young Adrian, however, only saw a large construct._

_Adrian squirmed inside his younger form's body. He was being drawn into the memory again. This time, however, he was likely not to be able to escape. Without his daughter, he was going to be drawn back in. He would forget who he was, once again just another piece of the memory._

_ But this time, he felt there would be no chance to escape. He would be slowly absorbed into Mouse, gone from the world forever. His body would not be reclaimed, his life would not be avenged. His daughter, his only source of escape, had abandoned him._

_ "Enough talk. Let's move." Ser Rylock, oblivious to the struggle within the child, strode ahead. "The sooner we get to Irving, the sooner we can return to our duties."_

_ "As if that would be a relief." Ser Henric rolled his eyes, snickering. "The Revered Mother can be quite forgetful sometimes. She's going to have me scrubbing the floors like an initiate again, I know it."_

_ "She's probably not being forgetful. With your attitude, it's likely she's punishing you." Ser Rylock didn't so much as look back. Henric smiled._

_ Adrian didn't notice. His child-form clasped Henric's hand and kept moving forward, but the mage within thrashed. He was being dragged back into the memory._

_ Consciousness was freeing itself from the mage, horror creeping into the edges of his mind. He wouldn't even be missed, or mourned. His life, ultimately, meant nothing. Nobody would know, and Mouse would continue masquerading as Adrian unimpeded. He wouldn't even get a chance to say goodbye._

_ Sten, Morrigan, Alistair, Leliana, Zevran, Jowan, Wynne, Oghren and Rayne... He'd let them all down, it seemed. He couldn't even put up a fight against the demon that plagued him so long. These memories would suck him dry, and he'd sit reliving the past for the rest of eternity. Maybe, mercifully, Mouse may end his life, end his suffering. But that would be a kindness a demon was incapable of showing. This was the end._

_ One last kick of his mind, but futile. Adrian felt the darkness close, dragging him into his childlike form. This time, he would not only lose his sense of self, but his identity. He was Adrian the abomination no longer. He was Adrian the scared child._

_ "What's in this tower, 'Enric?" Adrian asked, looking up at the templar._

_ "A home, friends and a nice, warm fire." Henric smiled reassuringly. "You'll love it here. I promise."_

ooo

"It's a pity forks don't work against armor, boy." Saul glanced at the utensil in his hand, then again at the armored guard blocking the door. This doorway was the key to escape and survival. He was so close, yet unluckily poorly armed. He had a fork and a burning desire to egress. He had to adapt.

"Yeah, but they work on eyes." Saul threw the fork, hoping that the small silver object would find its way to the target. If not... well... he was screwed.

A clang and a crunch later, Saul barreled into the guard, just as the fork bounced off his raised shield. So much for that plan. The two grappled with each other, fighting for control of the sword. Unfortunately, shields have a tendency to bash in faces at such close ranges, and Saul was trying mighty hard to avoid losing some teeth. It was odd of him to think of such things, but Saul couldn't help but notice the large mustache on this particular guard.

"Bloody... bastard!" The guard heaved, throwing Saul off. In that motion, his grip on the sword loosened. Saul took the chance, grabbing the blade as he was being tossed back. Now he was in the same position he was in with the fork, except now he had a bloody sword and a cut hand.

Time to adapt.

Saul yelled, chopping with the sword as he stepped in. Admittedly, he wasn't as good with the blade as he was with the bow, but the guard didn't know that. He wildly hammered on the shield, hoping he could skirt around the stubborn defense of the door. It wasn't happening.

To make matters worse, the guard was just now realizing that Saul didn't have enough skill with the blade to dislodge him. Assassins aren't always well-trained, after all.

"Fool!" The guard yelled as Saul's blade clanked off the shield again. Only this time he put weight behind it, knocking the sword wide and opening Saul's face for a good smack on the jaw.

Saul stumbled back, losing grip on the sword. When it clambered onto the floor, the now-scared shitless assassin turned and ran, skirting around a corner just ahead of the shouting guard. Clearly, luck was not on Saul's side, as there was another couple of pursuers running down the hallway just ahead. With an angry, heavily-mustached man closing in from behind, Saul's only choice was to throw his weight behind a side door, hoping it wouldn't just lead to a storage closet.

The bad news: It was a storage closet.

The good news: There was a window.

Saul slammed the door shut, grasping an iron rake and lodging it under the door handle. Not an effective barrier, but it would buy him time, at least. The assassin jumped, gripping the window and struggling to heave himself over. It was a small opening, barely a foot and a half wide, but it was just large enough to fit through.

Saul struggled with the opening for awhile. He had to position his shoulders diagonally so they could fit through. There was banging on the door now. The guards were slamming into the frame, hoping to either splinter or open it. There wasn't much time left. Saul thrust himself forward, using his body weight as momentum to push his shoulders through.

If only the builders of this mansion had decided on a better place for a window, Saul thought as he fit just enough of his body through to overbalance himself. If he had thought ahead, he would have seen the ledge just in front of him. But since he didn't, he was now about to plummet thirty feet to cobbled ground.

Saul reached up, but too late. His hands brushed the wood supports for the ledge, but found no security. And for his trouble, he now had a slight rotation in his free fall. Likely, he was going to hit his head and die.

Great job, Saul.

ooo

Rayne stepped back, only to walk into the door she had just emerged from. It had been locked, of course. R and Taoran didn't move. R smiled faintly while Taoran looked on blankly. Judging from their lack of reaction and the lack of guards in the room, Rayne only then started to understand why she wasn't dead yet.

"You all know each other?" Shianni shrugged, walking casually to one of the many long tables behind the two men. Zevran followed seating himself next to Shianni. He glanced back at Rayne, smiling. "You should probably tell me these things before you hire me to lead people places, Zevran."

"My apologies, my dear. R wanted the utmost care to be taken."

Rayne clutched the door behind her, knuckles white from the pain. Zevran led her here! He betrayed her again! But... how?

"No doubt you're confused, young elf." R stopped smiling, folding his arms behind his back. "Don't be."

Rayne barely registered the next movement of R's arm before a an invisible force pressed around her on all sides, crushing her slowly. A spell, but cast so quickly she couldn't even react. Not even Adrian was capable of weaving magic so quickly.

"Hey, hey! You said you wouldn't hurt her!" Zevran stood quickly, sliding back the bench he had parked himself on. Shianni didn't even flinch. "This wasn't what I was paid for!"

"What you were paid for was to bring her here. Our contract held no other assurances." R stepped closer, licking his lips. "Relax, elf. This girl will be unharmed. I have use for her, after all. I need her."

"B-Bastard. I-I'll give y-you nothing!" Rayne struggled against the paralysis to talk. She spit at R, but missed. The mage only seemed amused.

"Such fire! You never know when to give up!" R cupped Rayne's chin in his hand, gently lifting it. "But you can quell that fighting spirit of yours for now. I have use for you, and you will comply."

"W-Why?" Rayne could feel the crushing prison deepen its hold around her. Her arms and legs were useless. She could hardly even move her mouth.

"Because you're another one of my essential pieces. I have you numbered, see?" R smiled again. "There's this rich boy, nice enough fellow, who's involved with a girl I know. He's number one. Then there's a mercenary who's been working for Taoran for years. He's number two." R paused, glancing back at Taoran. The man hadn't moved so much as an inch. "And then there's you. Number three. The elf with emotional issues who wants to get back at her boyfriend. Romantic, isn't it?"

"S-Shove I-it up y-your ass..." Rayne gasped, or she tried to. The prison was constricting her lungs. Soon she wouldn't be able to breath.

"That doesn't sound so threatening when your life is so easy to end, girl." R's facial expression darkened for a second. "There's a fourth piece too, but he's out of commission due to family issues. To make up for that, I need you to listen and act quickly. You want to kill Adrian, yes?"

Rayne slowly nodded, unsure of what R was getting at.

"I can help you. All you need to do is follow my orders and don't die along the way. I can give you everything you want, you just need to let me help you." Suddenly Rayne found his words oddly soothing, relaxing. R was just trying to help her... just trying... she needed to kill Adrian, right? What did it matter if she teamed up with this man? And his voice seemed so... soft... Like velvet...

"F-Fine." Rayne spit out. The spell lifted immediately, and Rayne fell to the floor on her hands and knees, gasping for air. When she finally looked up, R was smiling again. "I'll only... do it to get at Adrian."

"Good enough for me." R turned, gesturing at Zevran. "You two can leave. Now. I'm sure the girl doesn't want two traitors in her midst. It'll disturb her."

Zevran nodded grimly. Shianni yawned, standing quickly. Rayne watched them leave with hate in her eyes. R was right. Those two were traitors too. R may have tried to kill her before, but at least he was honest about it. He had no reason to lie, but those two...

"You called us pieces...?" Rayne stood, rubbing her throat. The pain was already fading, but that didn't mean she shouldn't be cautious around R. His intentions may seem honest, but she couldn't trust him entirely.

"Yes. You're all needed in order to bring Adrian down. There were four of you, but now only three. Because of this, I have to make adjustments." R turned again, face stark. "Are you capable of fighting on short notice?"

Rayne nodded, still rubbing her neck.

"Good. I need you to start work immediately." R turned away again, gesturing towards Taoran. "This mindless fool will tell you what you need to do."

And he was gone, disappearing suddenly. With no other option in mind, Rayne slowly approached Taoran, who hadn't moved throughout the entire encounter. Her thoughts were whirling. The first instinct she had was to bolt, to escape this place. She was best off on her own, after all. Right? No. Probably not. On her own she'd charge straight into the palace and get cut down before she had a chance to get at Adrian. If R really was planning a rebellion like Shianni said, then she had more hope here than anywhere else. The proof was that she wasn't dead yet, right? R didn't even bother locking her up.

"So what am I doing now?" Rayne barely sighed out. Things had happened so fast, she hardly knew what was going on anymore. All she knew was that she needed to get to Adrian, and this was her next best lead.

"You're going to oppress the populace." Taoran's voice was eerily empty, unemotional. "Just like you used to. As a guard."

ooo

Her eyelids fluttered once before opening, gazing about the unfamiliar room. Myr tried to sit up, but the pain in her side forbid it. Instead she slumped back on the pillow. Silk? It was oddly luxurious, considering the rest of the room was trashed. It looked as if someone had a serious scuffle in there, bookshelves knocked over, window cracked. There was even a sword laying on the ground. And across the room, neatly folded on a dusty nightstand was... Saul's armor? His bow and saber lay on the ground next to it.

"Saul!" Myr forced herself up, ignoring the pain. After swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she noticed the figure in the doorway.

"You're up." R's hands were in the pockets of his robes. His hood was down, exposing his aging face.

"R...? Why are you here?" Myr glanced around again. "Where is here? It doesn't look like the old hideout."

"This is the Blackstone Irregular base. I apologize for the state of the room, but I figured you wouldn't care if you were unconscious." R gazed out at the window. "I got the best sheets I could. I had a man steal them from some noble in labor."

"Ever the King of Thieves, huh?" Myr grinned, but R didn't smile back. "What's the scheme this time? Ancient evil? Foreign insurgents? Blight?"

"I didn't want you to come back." R locked eyes with her. Myr freezed, just now remembering his steely gaze. "I told you to get out and don't look behind you."

"I couldn't leave Saul here! You wanted him and I delivered. Why can't I stay with him?" R didn't shift his focus, his eyes still boring into Myr's head.

"You know why!" R shouted. The yell seemed to rock the frame of the room, a magical modification Myr hadn't seen R use before. When he spoke again, it was quieter, more controlled. "Denerim is going to become a battlefield. I was right about what would happen if you stayed. You got hurt, badly."

"Without me, Saul is a loose cannon." Myr struggled to stand. "You need me to tether him down!"

"I can find another way!" R stepped into the room, shutting the door. He walked to the window, gazing out at the street a story below. "I always find another way. Adapting is the key to survival. Didn't I teach you that? Honesty is another key. Truth to those that deserve it. Why are you here? What is the real reason?"

Myr looked down at the floor. She could never lie to R. There were very few truths that surrounded the man, even less that she had managed to figure out. What she did know, however, was that he was an excellent lie detector.

"Because I... I think I love him." Myr glanced back at R, who let his head hit the wooden wall. The thud sounded emptily through the trashed room.

"I also remember teaching you that love is an illusion, only another tool to manipulate with. It is simply an object to be used to gain trust, to use that trust to gain knowledge." R closed his eyes, clenching his fists. "I told you to get away from here. I told you to let me find Saul on my own."

"I adapted." Myr laid back on the bed, turning away from him. R said no more, silently exiting the room. Now all she could do is wait for Saul to return, except now she was awake.

So much for a pleasant home-coming.

ooo

Ryal ducked out of the Gnawed Noble Tavern quietly, dragging the wounded soldier along with him. The man was flabbergasted by the display in the inn, and offered no resistence.

"You say Adrian sent the assassin?" Ryal pinned the guard to the wall. He was too shocked and wounded to bother struggling. "What proof do you have?"

"I-I-I didn't... I mean... I just said..."

"Yeah, forget the stammerin'." Ryal shoved the man backwards against the wall. "Where'd you find it?"

"I-In m-master R-Rodrigo's estate, o-of course." The man shifted his eyes. He was a bad liar.

"Get outta here!" R pushed the guard, letting him stumbled. He got up quickly, bolting off into the night. Ryal sighed, leaning against the tavern. He could still hear that red headed knight getting the crowd riled up. Soon enough there would be a riot...

"So that's how you wanna play it, R..." Ryal shut his eyes, blocking out the sound. He was only barely starting to understand the progression of R's plan. He wanted Adrian dead, that much he knew. But why? Why start a civil war in Denerim?

R was starting the war on false grounds, evidence planted by himself. It couldn't be personal... Did R just want power? Did he want to seat himself on the throne? That seemed most likely.

Yelling, crashing. Ryal turned to see the crowd burst out of the Gnawed Noble Tavern's door, a crowd of people charging towards the nearest guard post in blind fury. That red headed man leading tha charge wasn't helping, shouting profanities and various insults to various mothers of the guardsmen.

Ryal knew the small group of drunken tavern-goers wouldn't be enough to cause an uprising, but it was a start. Besides, all it took was a small riot to get a large amount of people angry. If there was any truth to R, it was that he planned this entire thing out, undoubtedly.

The man who brought the pin with Adrian's seal on it was working for R, and possibly some of the tavern drunks too. Mob mentality was a wonderful thing.

"And I need to stop him before he brings the entire city down around him." Ryal grumbled, storming off in the opposite direction of the emerging riot. The city was going to turn chaotic. Fast.

ooo

Saul sat up, rubbing his head. His entire body hurt, but somehow he survived the fall. Looking up, he could hear the shouts and roars as the rake broke under the strain of the guards. A slight confused silence followed before someone pointed out the window. It was time to go.

Saul ran around the corner, hoping the guards above didn't get a chance to catch sight of him. Now he needed to find a way back to R in a servants outfit, covered in blood and sweaty from the running about in the estate.

No sense complaining. Saul straightened himself, analyzing his surroundings. He had a chance, but it was a slim one. It was time to get dirty.

The young Cousland took off running, not even looking back as heard the thud of a body hit the ground. That guard didn't get as lucky as Saul did. All he could hope was that none of them did.


	16. Falling Apart

**Chapter 15: Falling Apart**

_"It won't work. We shouldn't be here!" Adrian grinned at his whimpering counterpart, a classmate of his he had convinced to come along. The black haired kid wasn't showing much promise as a recurring partner-in-crime, however. He whined a lot._

_ "C'mon, Jowan! We only have one shot at this." Adrian glanced around the corner again. The only templar stationed in the armory was leaning against the wall, asleep. "Let's go!"_

_ "W-Wait!" Adrian left Jowan behind, quickly sneaking over to the racks where templars stored their armor. Once there, he grabbed a small sack from within his robes, swiftly emptying the slimy, oozing contents from it over Knight-Commander Greagoir's armor._

_ "Perfect!" Adrian smiled to himself, using the sack to spread the ooze around. "He won't be able to sit down or even walk for weeks!"_

_ "I-I-I don't think pouring itching f-f-fluid o-on his armor will m-make up for punishing you last week." Jowan had rejoined him, cowering behind the racks whilst staring at the sleeping templar. "I mean, you did b-blow up a toilet, a-after all."_

_ "This is only round 1. Tomorrow night, Greagoir will magically start sprouting hairs where he isn't supposed to. And the next night..." Adrian contained a smile, swiftly retreating from the racks. Now he had to sneak by the guard at the stairs again to get back down to the apprentice floors. "Hurry up, Jowan!"_

_ The two boys skirted the corner, keeping low and moving quickly. Luckily, the templar guard had turned the other way, and they slipped through the door unseen. One more floor to go and they were in the clear._

_ "T-This whole thing w-was a bad idea..." Adrian heard Jowan mumble behind him. "We're gonna get caught. We're gonna get caught..."_

_ "Relax!" Adrian turned around suddenly, stopping Jowan in his tracks. Adrian laid a hand on the other boy's shoulder reassuringly. "We're going to be fine, okay? Just trust in me. Have faith in my abilities. I've done this countless times before."_

_ Unfortunately, his pep talk didn't seem to be working. Jowan's shoulders rose and his eyes widened in fear. Definitely not the reaction he was looking for._

_ "Jowan?" Adrian cocked an eyebrow curiously. And then he noticed the shadow emanating from behind him._

_ "Young Amell. I see your habit for flouting the rules is unchanging, as ever." A heavy, gruff voice, imposing presence and unforgettable permeating, penetrating aura. Greagoir. "May I ask why you're a floor above where you're supposed to, dragging about a fearful apprentice and stinking of some Maker-forbidden chemical?"_

_ Adrian turned slowly, looking up at the large figure. Greagoir's heavy frame towered over him, accentuated by the dull steel heavy plate that adorned him. Wait. If Greagoir was wearing his armor... then whose armor did Adrian spike?_

_ Greagoir's vocal question and Adrian's mental ones were shattered by an unearthly scream emanating from the floor above. Instantly, Greagoir shoved the two boys away, drawing his sword and sprinting for the stairs, shouting for a formation and back up._

_ "I-Is it an abomination...?" Jowan squeaked out after a moment. Templars were running past while concerned mages filtered into the hallway. None of them seemed to notice the two out-of-place apprentices._

_ "I don't know..." Adrian stared at the stairs, shocked. If it truly was an abomination there would be a fight. People could die. That would be... bad. Right? If the templars died... "I hope it is one, Jowan."_

_ "What? But... how can you say that?" Jowan contorted his face with confusion. Obviously, the younger, meeker boy wouldn't get Adrian's point, but he might as well try to make it._

_ "The templars don't care about us. Why should we care about them? I say, it's better to let them fight an abomination. I hope they lose." Adrian scowled, turning away and staring at the staircase again._

_ "Maybe..." Jowan blinked. A surprising response, Adrian thought. Maybe this boy was worthy of being a partner-in-crime after all. Maybe even a friend?_

_ A few agonizing moments later, Greagoir emerged from the floor above, taking great strides towards Adrian. A bearded man wrapped in a towel followed, shuttering and itching himself. Adrian's eyes widened as he realized why Greagoir seemed so pissed._

_ "Time to go!" Adrian bolted, but didn't get far. Greagoir charged, grabbing the young mage by the scruff of the neck. Adrian didn't resist. He'd been in this vice-grip before, and it was impossible to escape. He had lost._

ooo

_"He's been here eight years, Irving! Eight years! And yet he has still not learned his place!" Greagoir paced in the Senior Enchanters office, fuming. Adrian sat against the wall in the hallway outside, Jowan beside him. The man, the same one who let out the scream, who was the accidental victim of the itchy attack, was silently scratching himself in a corner of Irving's room, too busy bothering with his ailments to care about the conversation._

_ "Sometimes patience is a more viable method of discipline than sheer anger, Greagoir." Irving sat behind his desk, arms wrapped and placed against his chin. He stared back at Greagoir with as much kindness and compassion as the Knight-Commander did with fire and anger._

_ "Patience?" Greagoir scoffed. "You ask for patience when I've given him nothing but? Adrian has continually shown disobedience and insubordination! Just last week he attempted to poison Senior Enchanter Sweeney!"_

_ "I hardly consider slipping laxatives into the man's tea as poison." Irving waved his hand. "What the boy did to Ser Irminric is... lamentable, but not dangerous. The itchy condition should clear up in a few days, anyway."_

_ "He should be punished!" Greagoir slammed his hands on the table, staring at Irving. "He's been subject to 144 counts of juvenile detention, 33 counts of misdemeanor activity, 387 counts of slanderous speaking and..."_

_ "Enough with the numbers, Greagoir. I understand Adrian is not the best... behaved." Irving glanced at the door, beyond which lay Adrian and Jowan, who awaited punishment. "But he has a great talent and intelligence. Wasting his time with endless detentions will not serve to improve his condition. Boring him with menial tasks will only cause him to lash out and cause more problems. He needs to be occupied. He needs to be challenged."_

_ "I can find a few ways to do just that." Greagoir snarled. "His talent is no excuse for his behavior. Even prodigies must conform to rules. He must learn that."_

_ Irving hung his head, sighing. After a moment, he nodded slowly. Greagoir withdrew, laying his hands at his side again._

_ "You're right." Irving said finally. "Have him clean out the storage facilities of spiders again. They keep coming back. Since Ser Irminric was the victim of his latest actions, let him oversee it. He may have jurisdiction of how long the punishment is administered."_

_ "Thank you Irving." Gregoir nodded curtly, backing away from the table. He motioned towards the templar in the towel, who ran over to join him, itching himself incessantly. They approached the door slowly. Once they were outside the office, Adrian glared at them evilly. Jowan just sniffled._

_ "What's the punishment this time?" Adrian looked away finally, his eye level only reaching Greagoir's chest._

_ "Ser Irminric will oversee your punishment. You're going to clean the storage rooms again. Thoroughly. Make sure it is done right, templar." Greagoir glanced at Ser Irminric, who nodded between itching fits. Greagoir looked at the boy once more before walking away._

_ Adrian didn't talk on the way to the shelter, too busy was he staring at his shoes. Another failure. It was only getting more and more difficult to pull off a prank these days now that the templars knew about him._

_ When they got to the storage room, Adrian finally looked up. He glanced at a tranquil talking to an elven Senior Enchanter. He looked beyond them, to a strange young girl leaning against a wall, staring at him. She didn't seem like she belonged in the tower, considering she wasn't in uniform. She wore a black dress, though Adrian was sure that was against regulation._

_ But when Adrian looked back, she was gone._

ooo

The heat was doing little to brighten Ryal's mood. He'd witnessed various riots break out at different times, all led by strong-of-speech Fereldens who just happened to be in the neighborhood when civil unrest started to break out.

The first riot was when Bann Rodrigo died. The second was only a few hours later, occurring in the dead of night at a noble's party. The servants instigated a fight, which led to a mosh pit, which led to a severe guard crackdown, which then escalated to near warfare for a few hours. Ryal was stuck in the middle, struggle to discern which of those on both sides worked for R.

Many more such skirmishes had broken out in the two days since. People were frightened, scared by rumors of heinous murders committed by the guards, compelled to fight because people were fighting, dying in the streets.

But if Ryal knew one thing, it was that Fereldens were strong, hardy and willful. These people survived a Blight. They survived a sacking of a great city, and they certainly had no intentions of bending knee to a mage dictator who shut himself in the palace and searched relentlessly for a man nobody had heard of.

And, of course, there was the heat. High temperatures didn't suit Ryal, considering he hailed from the freezing lands of the Korcari Wilds. And then there were all the people! Even in times of terror, where people were afraid the guards would swoop in and murder them in their sleep, they still ran about shopping, bumping into him, making general asses of themselves. But rather than jovial tones of Ferelden debauchery, a queer hush hung over them. As if talking would somehow make the guards discover their wrongdoings faster.

Yet in opposite effect, other areas, where once there was a throng of people fighting for merchandise, prices or wares, now lay still, undisturbed by the masses. The Market District was empty because it was popular before. People assumed the higher popularity meant the more chance they'd get hauled away, so they made themselves solitary, which also made themselves more noticeable.

It was a no win situation, and Ryal was the only one who knew the truth behind it. The misery in the city was no construct of an evil dictator, it was that of a power crazed mercenary band that had recently become over-ambitious.

Ryal stood straight, elevating himself from the wall he leaned against. There were no riots in this area, best to move on. R commanded him to observe, so he needed something to look at. The Market District was silent, empty. Solitary.

This was wrong. It was all wrong. Twisted, warped, fucked. It didn't matter what word was used. R was manipulating the city to do what he wanted it to do. He wanted a revolution, a rebellion, so he created false grounds to base it upon.

And when Adrian was finally deposed, hung up on a spike and burned, maybe then the people will realize they killed an innocent man, a hero, even. But most likely not.

In all likelihood, the Hero of Ferelden's name would be wiped away from the history books. His name would become shameful, as he was not a hero, but a victim at trial. He was to be executed for crimes he did not commit.

Sighing, Ryal trudged off, sweating profusely. He only had a thin Antivan shirt and some trousers on. He shouldn't be this hot. Why was it so blasted hot?

R needed to be stopped. Ryal knew this. The Blackstone Irregulars' job, as told by Raelnor, was to protect the people, to be mercenaries not for money, but for trust. It was better to be a dead, broke savior than a living, rich bastard.

Maybe it was time to live up to the Irregular's code, then. Maybe it was time to honor Raelnor's memory, to set what his death started right. Maybe what the order had turned into was not what it was supposed to be.

Whatever happened to the Irregulars, Ryal needed to stop it. R was the source of this, the pain, the misery, the death. He was the key to everything. He needed to die.

Ryal trudged off towards the hideout, greatsword in hand. He'd need it.

ooo

"How long will it be until she's awake?" Saul gripped Myr's hand, leaning over the edge of her bed. Myr lay flat, unmoving.

"When your job is done, I will awaken her." R leaned against in the doorway, examining them. "Not one moment after, not one moment before. You have a duty to fulfill, Saul."

"My duty is not to you." Saul glared at R. "It's to her. To Myr. I don't care who you are or what your goal is, all I want is for her to wake up."

"And if you disobey me, she never will." R smirked. "This next step is of utmost importance. A little screw up like what happened with Rodrigo can jeopardize my entire plan... and Myr's life."

"You've had me smiting people left and right for your inane plans constantly. Rodrigo, Jeriah, Salisem, all targets you wished dead." Saul stared back down at Myr, the elf's chest rising and falling slowly in the comforting rhythm of sleep. Saul absently let his hand graze her cheek, trying to ignore the unpleasant stares from R.

"Murder is not the goal this time, boy." R slowly approached, speaking slowly. "This time you'll be dabbling in politics. Thanks to the strategic murders, my plans are all falling into place. There's only one last duty you can perform, and only then will I finally wake Myr."

"How do I know you're telling the truth?" Saul twirled a lock of Myr's snow-white hair, still focusing on her. "You could get anyone to murder these people. Why am I so special?"

"The first reason is because you know the art of killing. Murder is all you've had your mind on since your parents died." Saul could feel R's staring. "The first to go was Lowan, Howe's former captain of the guard. Then you slowly picked off Howe soldiers, torturing and interrogating them for answers as to where the rest of Howe's family is."

"And the second reason?"

"You're a Cousland." Saul turned, locking eyes with the green-hooded mage. "Your blood makes this plan works. Simply being born makes you useful to my scheme, infinitely so."

"Why?"

"Because that means Fergus is your own flesh and blood. He's more likely to listen to you than a random assassin." R turned, strolling over to one of the various weapons scattered on the floor. He picked up a blackened scimitar, examining it. "Without you, I won't be able to get to Fergus. Without Fergus, my plan becomes that much harder, and a directly correlated amount of people will die because of it."

"And if I refuse?"

"Myr dies. And so do you." R grinned, shaking his head. "I know you're going to do this. It's in your nature. You don't care what happens to Fergus or even what I'm trying to do. All that is going through your head is how to get what you want, and what you want is for Myr to awaken."

"You know me so well." Saul scoffed. "What purpose does Fergus serve?"

"He's second in command. He's a step below Adrian in this city. Aside from the man I aim to depose, he's the most powerful fool in this city." R stared at Saul. "So I need you to work your magic on him. If you can convince Myr that your murders are justified, I'm sure you can persuade Fergus of anything."

"Will Fergus get hurt?" Saul turned his eyes back towards Myr, still resting peacefully. If she was in pain from her wounds, it didn't show.

"Not if you do the job right."

ooo

Rayne never truly adapted to the stubborn unwieldiness of the guard uniform. Even when she worked under Adrian, she always discarded the helmet so as to not chafe her long ears. She even had her personal set of mail modified to remove plates and excess weight, replacing it with leather and chain links.

Unfortunately, her personal set of mail was damaged heavily after the Irregulars assaulted her and Zevran the week before. She was stuck with a standard grade captain's set, and rank obviously did little to relieve the discomfort.

At the very least, she got Blightblood and Fang back. That was only a small relief, considering her actions of the past two days.

R's first orders were to beat up a few merchants and make it obvious she worked for Adrian. The second was to kick a few kids and hurt some beggars. Not exactly emotionally elevating work, but Rayne was starting to think she didn't care.

"We goin' to move or what, cap'n?" Her second, a man from the Irregulars with missing teeth and bad teeth, spoke with a wheezing voice. He called himself Shivs, whatever that meant. "The target's not gonna stand 'round waitin' for us t' beat 'im."

"Right." Rayne nodded awkwardly, approaching the cowering man in the corner of the shop. He was an older man, one with a pretty daughter who used to work as a waitress in the Gnawed Noble Tavern. Rayne knew that because she just killed her.

"W-W-Why would you do this to me?" Tears ran from the man's face freely, his hands stained with the blood of his daughter, who lay on the wood floor between them. "I-I've only missed a few tax payments-"

"Adrian is your ruler. By not paying him, you're abandoning your duty as a Ferelden citizen." Rayne spoke coldly. She'd been doing missions like this near-nonstop since she started working for R two days prior. He had a lot of marks and little time to complete them. "You need to pay the price for your disobedience to the throne."

"You're the one shirking your duty!" The man yelled, wailing in tears. "A guard is supposed to protect the people, not kill them! Why would Adrian do something like this to me...? Why would he care? He never gave a damn what we did before!"

"That mentality got you in this situation." Rayne glanced at the carcass as she stepped over it, approaching the man slowly. The sight of it actually wrenched her gut. Rayne thought she'd be used to this sort of thing by now. She was right back where she started, after all. This felt no different from when she worked with Adrian.

"I... I've done nothing wrong..." The man bowed his head. He weeped softly, staring at the body of his daughter. Rayne backhanded him, sprawling him across the floor. She then straddled him, grabbing the back of his head and ramming him into the floor once, then twice for good measure. He only cried.

"Pay your bills, fool, or there's more of that." Rayne got up, walking towards the door, hoping that if she turned her back on the scene, she could forget about it. Her small troupe followed, Shivs walking to her right.

What she was doing didn't feel right, but the conflict of emotion was too strong for her to stop. She wanted Adrian dead, but to do that she needed to be a monster. It wasn't like she didn't know how to do that. She did sell Shianni's body for forty sovereigns, after all.

But with every inhumane action, with every slap, every murder, every sword swing seemed to draw her further away from emotion. All she could focus on was her objective: Adrian. Her fury towards him defied logic, to the point where she was willing to kill innocents just to obtain her revenge.

"Cap'n? You all right?" Shivs voice again broke her from her thoughts. The man had a knack for that, since he was the only one in her troupe that ever talked. The rest were either too stupid or too emotionally stunted to care about social chatter.

"Yeah... I'm fine." Rayne brushed him off, focusing ahead towards the marketplace. She stormed forward, in the rough direction of where R's hideout lay. Undoubtedly, there was yet another mission to fulfill, another person to hurt, another life to ruin.

And, undoubtedly, she'd do the job. And do it well.

ooo

Fiddling with his saber, Saul slowly approached the noble districts of Denerim. Beyond these mansions, where vain rich men played games while the people below them suffered, lay the palace, the end of the road for him.

Once Myr was awake, once he convinced Fergus of what R wanted him to, he would finally leave Denerim. Nothing would stop him this time. Not assassins, not crime lords and not a false rebellion.

This city had grown tired and weak. The people merely carcasses that could walk and talk. They meant nothing and would aspire to the same. Why R would manipulate that anger these people felt, the ultimate realization that their lives mean nothing in the long run, didn't mystify Saul. It made perfect sense. These people wanted Adrian to be a ruthless dictator because then dethroning him would give their lives meaning. What the Blight stole away, this rebellion would regenerate.

The streets were empty, as the people were meeting in secret, planning attacks against the guards or raids on supply caches. Warfare would soon break out, but it wouldn't be enough to drag Adrian from his gilded throne. That's why Fergus was needed. His support would increase the rebellion's effort by a substantial amount.

Even in the nobler districts, there was silence. Silence meant fear, it meant desperation. Noblemen who supported Adrian feared a mob would tear down their doors and rape their wives and children. Those who wished Adrian driven from power feared assassination.

There would be no clean, clear win in this battle. Adrian would either be strung up or he would emerge a victor, but the ramifications would take years to remedy. The people would never forget how they were wronged by their rulers, just as Orlais tormented them, except now the threat came from within their own country.

Saul walked cautiously, careful not to attract attention to himself. His leather armor clinked softly as he strode through the alleyways, careful to keep away from being seen by too many. Though he had taken extra precaution in the murders the last two days, his face might still be known by some. It was best not to take chances.

Finally, he reached the palace gates. A single guard stood at the entrance, one who Saul knew well. One that Saul knew would let him in.

"Greetings." Ser Gilmore nodded, gazing at Saul from across the street. "I was informed you'd be arriving today to meet with Fergus. He's expecting you."

"Thank you, Roland." Saul stepped past him as the gates opened. The red-headed knight fell in step beside him. "Is Fergus aware of the situation within the city?"

"All too well." Saul could see Ser Gilmore glancing about in the corner of his eye. "He's been struggling to set things right, punishing any guards severely who harm the peasants, but the attacks keep occurring."

"Denerim won't last long in this state." Saul forced out. He hated pithy conversation, but he'd have to make do here. "Fergus can't stay as an innocent bystander for long. If he waits, he'll be seen as an ally to Adrian. If he doesn't and makes the wrong decision, it'll be his head on a pike next. What of Chancellor Adrian?"

"Locked himself in his room since two elves broke into the palace trying to assassinate him." Ser Gilmore didn't seem perturbed by the thought. "Hasn't left since, though he is still sending troops out to discover the location of that Vilhm Madon character. He's obsessing over it. It's not human to act that way."

"Does he care about the riots breaking out over the city? The rebellion that's gaining ground?" Saul and Gilmore ascended the stairs. They were headed to the council chamber, where Fergus would undoubtedly be waiting.

"No. He hasn't even mentioned it. His advisers have informed him that the situation requires his attention, a public statement or something of that sort, but he's refused. He just doesn't seem... right." Ser Gilmore sighed. "It's like he isn't even human. When he stares at you, it's just..."

"Doesn't matter what Adrian thinks or does." Saul kept his eyes trained ahead. "This will all be over soon. His rule will come to an end. Adrian will die."


	17. Coming Together

I'm generally not one to make announcements to my readers, but I did feel I had to say thanks to all of you who have reviewed my story. I especially want to thank mille libri, who has reviewed **every** chapter, eternally being supportive in writing this story. I learned a lot since I started this story, considering how this story has evolved greatly from its initial conception. I feel my writing definitely has improved since I first started Possession, and even from when I started this story. I wouldn't have made it this far without the reviews.

This story is definitely not what I imagined it would be when I started planning and writing it. Truth be told, I didn't even have the entire story mapped out until I had finished chapter 9, so some of the changes I made were a surprise even to me! I'm happy there are people who have stuck with this story, that there are those who grow excited whenever they see a New Chapter notification in their Inbox. If it wasn't for you guys, I would have given up a long time ago.

So, with true gratification in my heart, I say thank you. To all of you. We're not quite at the end yet, but I hope you stick around until then.

**Chapter 16: Coming Together**

_When they brought the albino mage into the tower, she was in chains. Adrian had no clue why, Jowan didn't either. The templars handled her with extreme care, treating her like a prisoner, even more so than the usual mage._

_ The two boys watched the doorway as Templar Bran assisted Ser Henric, Ser Greagoir and Ser Irminric the albino elf in walking. Adrian and Jowan had to wait on the side as they passed, cautious yet curious about the strange person the templars dragged in._

_ "It's been two years since the itching incident, Jowan. I doubt Ser Irminric still hates me." The two apprentices stood at the end of the hall, opposite from Ser Irminric, who stood guard to First Enchanter Irving's room. Greagoir and Irving were inside with the strange albino elf, having argued furiously ever since she arrived._

_ "He won't let us in, Adrian. You're being stupid to even think that he would." Jowan scoffed, bewildered. He was pacing again, annoying Adrian. "I can't help you with this."_

_ "I just want one look, Jowan." Adrian glared at Jowan while he spoke, angered at the stubborn stance the mage was taking. His friends shouldn't be showing free will! "Didn't we swear to always help each other out in situations of crises like this?"_

_ "This isn't a crisis, Adrian! This has nothing to do with us!" Jowan stepped away, turning his back. "I heard talk that... she's a murderer. Killed a bunch of elves in the Denerim Alienage, or some such. We shouldn't get involved."_

_ "Fine." Adrian pushed him away, nearly causing Jowan to trip over his robes. "I'll do it myself. I didn't want your help anyways."_

_ Jowan shrugged, shaking his head and turning away. A few seconds later, he was gone, disappearing to the Chantry room for Maker-known reasons. Adrian grimaced, turning back to stare at the door Ser Irminric was guarding._

_ "Shit!" Adrian ducked behind a door as a mage emerged from Irving's office. He was bald with a hooked nose, and had an impatient and powerful feel to him. He looked like one of the Senior Enchanters, being that he was old and crinkled. Greagoir emerged after, followed by Irving. Greagoir was shaking his head._

_ "The girl is not lying, Greagoir." The bald man seemed exasperated and somewhat angry. "I ran all my tests and they're all negative. If you wish to brand her as a danger, you have no evidence to back your claims. I'll see you on trial at the College of Enchanters before I see you imprison an innocent young girl."_

_ "Your tests are biased, Uldred! Two elven corpses speak otherwise, and I will not have a murderer run free in the halls of this tower!" Greagoir seemed next to shouting. Irving laid a hand on the man's shoulder, which he shrugged off. "There is no way she could lose memories of the incident. She didn't suffer any trauma to the head! My men didn't have to attack her!"_

_ "Exactly my point, fool!" Uldred bared his teeth, clenching his fists. "Your men didn't attack because the shock of the event has damaged her psychologically. She has no violent tendencies and her amnesia is explained by a traumatic stress disorder. Idiots like you hold back innocent mages! How many have to suffer because you can't wrap the thought that-"_

_ "I'll have your title revoked for this, Uldred." Greagoir grabbed the bald man by the collar, holding him up to eye level. Despite how Greagoir was much larger and obviously stronger, the mage only smirked._

_ "You can't do anything to me, petty templar." Uldred smiled wickedly. "We own you, despite how you like to think otherwise. You won't revoke my titles. You can't even question my decisions without filing mountains of paperwork with your Chantry."_

_ "Gentlemen!" Irving separated them, grimacing with the effort. "Please, we're in the middle of the hallway. If you're going to argue over titles and accusations, do so where you won't embarrass yourselves."_

_ Both men seemed somewhat shamed, though Uldred kept his head held high. Greagoir glared at the bald mage for a moment before storming off. As he passed Adrian, he glanced at the boy but said nothing, continuing on his way._

_ "The girl stays, yes?" Uldred asked, rubbing his throat. Irving nodded. "Good. Her amnesia is most curious, considering the circumstances. What if it is connected to her albinism? I want to run more tests. If she truly did kill her parents with magic, I'd expect to see abnormalities in her..."_

_ Losing interest, Adrian looked down the hallway, to where Greagoir stormed off to. From the direction he took, Adrian suspected he had left the tower through the main entrance to cool off. Templars were allowed to do that, but not mages._

_ Irving and Uldred had started walking away, up the stairs to another section of the Circle Tower. Ser Irminric stared at their backs, turning his own to Adrian. Now was the chance._

_ Adrian got up from behind the door carefully, inching his way over to the office. Finally, he slipped inside the open office, hiding just within behind the door, where no one could see him. After a few moments, he heard Ser Irminric grumble to himself, then shut the door._

_ The young mage looked up in the direction of where Irving's desk was. The sight surprised him, considering everything. Sitting atop the desk was an elf, a beautiful one, at the very least, but that wasn't what surprised him._

_ Her hair was snow-white, completely, shining white. And she was staring at him with light purple eyes. Not only was the color of her features completely surprising, but her skin was also extremely pale. What was it Uldred said she had? Albinism?_

_ "Hey." Adrian locked eyes with her when she spoke. She didn't seem shy, or even slightly perturbed that a strange mage just sneaked into the room. "Where am I? They wouldn't say."_

_ "Circle of Magi." Adrian answered, slowly making his way towards her. The desk had been cleared of the usual papers, and the strange girl was dressed in a simple white night gown. Likely she was nabbed by the templars in the middle of the night. It happened. "We're in the middle of Lake Calenhad, in Ferelden."_

_ "Ferelden? Lake Calenhad?" The girl tilted her head quizzically. Her response was odd, and Adrian felt slightly uncomfortable how she stared at him. She was... examining him. Sizing him up, somehow. "Those answers are just as unhelpful as whatever those old men were saying. Who are you?"_

_ "The name is Adrian Amell, I'm an apprentice here, though not by will. I was abducted by the templars, just like you. I, at least, had the luxury of having proper clothes when I was taken away. You cold?" Adrian walked towards the bookshelf on the left side of the room, absently taking a book from the shelf. If he kept looking at her, he felt she might suck something out of him. His soul, maybe. With those eyes..._

_ "A little. That bald guy gave me something to drink, and everything's seemed a bit dull since. I can't... think properly." Adrian turned, only to notice she had laid her head in her hands. "My head hurts..."_

_ "I'm sure it'll pass soon. Probably something Uldred gave you." Adrian cautiously walked over, laying a hand on her shoulder. She flinched, but didn't withdraw. Greagoir was wrong. She didn't seem dangerous at all. _

_ "The bald man?Uldred?" The albino girl looked up at him, and Adrian noticed her eyes were wet with tears, her face slightly red and puffy. "That was his name..."_

_ "What's yours?" Adrian rubbed her shoulder, trying to be comforting. She seemed to relax a little, though it might have just been his imagination._

_ "Myr. I think. That's one of the few things I remember, besides my age. I don't know if it's true, though." Myr gasped, gripping her head again. "I need some fresh air. I can't even... My head is killing me."_

_ "Here. Come with me." Adrian grabbed her hand, leading her to the door. She complied, not resisting in the slightest. Adrian cautiously opened the door and, luckily, Ser Irminric was still turned the other way. Adrian lightly ran down the hallway towards the stairs, leading her down a floor._

_ "Where are we going?" Myr gasped out between breaths. She didn't seem healthy enough to run, but Adrian knew he had to hurry, so Ser Irminric wouldn't notice she was gone too soon._

_ The two made it to the first floor with no incident, though Myr's bare feet weren't helping her combat the hard ground. Adrian noticed her feet already were scarred, and he could only guess why._

_ Unfortunately for Adrian, Templar Bran was at the door, as was his usual duty. He wouldn't be able to slip outside very easily._

_ "Jowan!" Adrian noticed his friend meandering around in the dormitories, shaking his head and mumbling. He looked up when Adrian approached, only to sigh and glance away._

_ "You actually kidnapped the murder suspect?" Jowan put his hands on his head, closing his eyes in frustration. "This is ridiculous. And now I bet you want me to do something incredibly stupid for you, something I'm going to regret for years. Right?"_

_ "Exactly. Get Bran to leave his post."_

_ "What!" Jowan's eyes widened, his shout startling Myr, who had been focusing on her headache. When he spoke again, it was much quieter. "You want to leave the tower? Are you crazy!"_

_ "It's only for a little while. She has a headache. I figure giving her some fresh air would help her." Adrian felt the grip on his hand tighten as Myr closed her eyes. "Hey, Myr? You okay?"  
"It's getting worse..." Myr put her free hand on her head. "It... hurts a lot."_

_ "F-Fine. I'll do it." Jowan rolled his eyes. "I know this won't help me make friends with Irving or Greagoir. You owe me, Adrian."_

_ "Okay, okay. Just get Templar Bran away from that door." Jowan nodded before leaving. Adrian crept towards the door, peering out to the chamber where the door was. Jowan ran towards Bran, shouting._

_ "Bran! Greagoir is yelling upstairs! He demanded I come get you!" Jowan was a decent enough actor, but Bran appeared unfazed. _

_ "Oh, really? And what does the Knight-Commander want?" Bran, ever sarcastic, folded his arms. "He explicitly wants an underling that manages the door to leave his post for any and all people to wander in and out of the tower?"_

_ "Your mother died." Jowan turned dead serious. Bran unfolded his arms slightly, slightly concerned with the news. "A letter just arrived at the tower a little while ago, and Greagoir looked at it before giving it to you. He... said he wanted to tell you himself, but I guess since you don;t want to leave your post..."_

_ "Outta my way, kid." Bran pushed Jowan away, sprinting off. Jowan rushed to Adrian, who lay against the door to the dormitory. Myr was near collapsing, leaning on Adrian for support to stand._

_ "I think she needs a doctor, not some air, Adrian." Jowan said, concerned. "Not that my opinion matters anymore. I just assisted in the escape of a mage, so I'm dead anyway."_

_ "We're not escaping, just going outside. Is that so wrong?" Adrian propped Myr up. She weakly looked at him, sweating from the pain. "Myr, we're almost out. You okay?"_

_ Myr nodded. She leaned on Adrian for support while they walked to the door. Once there, Adrian leaned her against a pillar while he unfastened the large bolts on the door, pushing the heavy door open. Even Jowan felt relieved by the influx of cool, night air._

_ "C'mon, Myr." Adrian helped her outside, out onto the pathway. Ahead of them was the docks and the collapsing Imperial Highway, but that wasn't where he was heading. "This way."_

_ Adrian led the shaking girl to the side, towards the rocky ground under the other arches situated on the side of the tower. Myr finally collapsed on her knees, panting._

_ "I really think we should go back inside. If we're found out here..." Jowan approached from behind, glancing around him nervously. "She needs a doctor, Adrian!"_

_ "No! She doesn't." Adrian reached his arm behind Myr's leg, picking her up. He walked the rest of the way, carrying the albino elf in his arms. "Look Myr. The moon."_

_ Myr turned her head towards the lake. The moon was just rising above the distant horizon, outlined in the back by stars and the night sky. Adrian let his mouth hang open, surprised by the rare spectacle. He didn't remember the sky being so beautiful. The last time he set foot in open air was ten years before, and his fond memories of that time were in short supply anyway._

_ "A moonrise..." Myr smiled as they looked out from the rocks behind the circle tower. Jowan slowly stepped forward behind them._

_ "It's beautiful..." Jowan gawked, leaning against an arch. "But I don't think it's worth getting sent to Aeonar over."_

_ "My headache is gone..." Myr said, glancing up at Adrian, who was still holding her. Adrian let her down slowly, carefully allowing her bare feet secure a hold on the rocky surface of the shore. "Looks like fresh air worked. Thank you."_

_ "My pleasure. I like breaking rules anyways." Adrian smiled, and Myr smiled back. Jowan rolled his eyes._

_ "Are we going to go back?" Jowan motioned towards the front of the tower. "We'd better hurry if we're not going to get branded as apostates. Man... Greagoir and Irving are going to have us at the switch. I don't know why I followed you."_

ooo

"Teyrn Fergus." Ser Gilmore snapped to attention after opening the door, revealing Saul's brother. He apparently had been poring over documents, likely reports from the recent guard brutality. Saul knew his brother was generally a gentle man, so he'd be trying inefficient, less forceful methods of finding out the truth of the situation.

"Ah... Roland. I see you brought Saul like you said." Fergus barely glanced up, still focusing on the papers. "Leave us. I'd prefer to talk with my younger brother alone."

Ser Gilmore nodded, then stepped outside, closing the door behind him. Saul was left standing awkwardly, unsure of how to start. R wanted Saul to convince Fergus to join the rebellion, but now that he was here, how was he going to go about doing that?  
"Please sit, brother. Hovering over me like that makes me uncomfortable." Fergus motioned to a chair across from him, on the other side of the large, circular table in the center of the conference room. Saul complied, sliding himself into the seat, laying his sword and bow on the table. "I'm surprised you're still in Denerim. I had thought you'd already set out on that mad quest of revenge of yours. I won't stop you, if that's what you're worried about. Yet... I feel that isn't the reason you haven't left. Why are you here, brother?"

"To save your life, and the lives of all of Denerim's citizens." Saul spoke slowly, analyzing his words. He needed to make sure he didn't say anything absolutely stupid. This was a delicate matter.

"What an odd statement." Fergus finally looked away from his papers, locking eyes with his brother. "And how could you do that, I wonder? You're in no position of power and you're locked in a desire for vengeance, or have you come out of that delirium?"

"No. But I care more about your survival than my revenge." It felt like a lie to Saul, but Fergus bought it. So it was true, then. He cared more about revenge for his dead family than he did about his living family. "You're caught in a situation most, if not all, humans would consider to be completely unmanageable. There is no winning solution, unless you do something radical."

"Something radical?" Fergus' eyebrows shot up. "How do you know about what I'm dealing with? What do you know, Saul?"

"I know that Adrian isn't the man you think he is." Saul suppressed an urge to flinch when he spoke. He needed to keep a cool head to convince Fergus. "He saved Ferelden, yes, but he's abusing his power, abusing the people. He needs to be stopped, and you know it."

"You're talking treason, Adrian." Fergus put his head in his hands. "I never thought my brother would be a supporter of the rebellion. These people want to bring me down! They want to kill me, kill Adrian and destroy this government."

"No. They want Adrian. Nothing else." Saul folded his hands in front of him in a passive stance, recalling the political lectures he used to get from his father and mother. Those classes on persuasion were doing some good, but Fergus seemed doubtful.

"I have no record of him sending guards to terrorize the populace. There's no proof of-"

"Of course there's no record, Fergus!" Saul unintentionally raised his voice, but quickly controlled it. "A man like him, a tyrant, would do things off the record. He hides his actions because he thinks it makes him invulnerable to the consequences."

Fergus hung his head, shaking it. Finally, he got up, pacing back and forth behind his chair. He kept glancing to the door, as if Adrian and his personal guards would burst through the door at any moment and attack them.

"I can't agree with you. To rebel against Fergus would be to risk my titles, the title of our family! After surviving Howe's attack, we need to keep ourselves alive and our family name alive, if only to keep Howe's memory suppressed." Fergus shook his head. "No. I can't agree with you. I don't even know what you want from me!"

"I need you to rebel." Saul said quietly. "I need you to help me bring Adrian down. My revenge for Howe can wait until this is settled. That's how strongly I feel about this. His crackdowns and assaults on the public, the torture, the lives destroyed by him, it needs to stop."

"Y-You're accusing him of crimes that are incredibly heinous. If you weren't my brother, I'd string you up." Fergus kept pacing, sweating. "But... I've seen things."

There it was. The opening.

"What things, Fergus? What has Adrian done?" Saul queried, unrelenting. He needed to break Fergus, to make him submit to the idea that his hero was nothing more than a madman. "Tell me. I need to know to better stop this madness."

"I..."  
"Fergus!" Saul stood now, knocking his chair back. Fergus looked up, shocked. Saul didn't back down. "Would you rather let the people of Denerim suffer and die? If you allow Adrian's madness to continue, their blood is on your hands!"

ooo

"Next target's in there, boss." Shivs pointed out a shanty merchant shop built into the wall of the alleyway, a door on the side apparently extending into the house behind it. The target was obviously not a successful businessman, but the rich weren't the ones Rayne was usually ordered to hurt. Rayne gave a short nod, approaching the small door.

"'Ey! Who're you!" Rayne turned abruptly at the brusque voice. A man stood at the edge of the alleyway, a bag in hand. Judging from the contents at the top, he had just bought, or stole, food. "Git away from mah home!"

Rayne drew Fang, starting at a run towards the man. Panicking at the sudden charge, the man flung the bag, which Rayne easily darted around. He fled, running towards the Market District. Good. It was empty, deserted due to fear. She could catch and torture him easily there.

"G-Git away from me, monster!" The man screamed as he ran, knocking over stands, stools, tables, anything he could touch. Rayne was agile enough to dodge most, but a stray apple rolled out from under her foot, dropping her to one knee.

"Damn it!" Rayne swore, rubbing her leg. The man stopped for a second, glancing back towards her. Thinking himself in the clear, the man smiled before running again. Rayne wouldn't give up so easily.

Spying a fancy rock that rolled near her, likely a decoration for a salesman's stand before it was knocked over, Rayne palmed it, aiming for the fleeing man. Taking note of the distance, Rayne knew it would be a tough shot, since the man was easily sixty feet away.

Knowing she couldn't hesitate any longer, Rayne threw the stone. It arced through the air before coming to rest against the man's head. He dropped. Relief flooded through Rayne, knowing the throw was more luck than skill.

She got up quickly, ignoring the pain in her leg from her fall, slowly approaching the fallen man. She couldn't help laughing. It was so lucky!

Rayne's sides hurt, so great was her mirth. The laughter kept coming, forcing itself out of her. Out of every fucked up moment in her life, every bad mistake, every job poorly done, she finally got lucky! And the one time she did, it was wasted on an inconsequential, miserable man whose life wasn't worth a shit or two.

Oh, the fucking irony.

Rayne finally got the laughter under control, but chuckled as she approached the man. He was groaning, turning over slowly. He wasn't even an attractive man. Not only was he a worthless man, but he was an ugly worthless man! And her luck was wasted on him!

She gripped his shirt, laughing again as she dragged the man to his feet. He looked scared. Funny. He should be. The laughter was only a knee-jerk reaction to the rage building within her. Still, it was so god damned funny!

"W-W-Why are you laughing?" The man's eyes skirted about, full of fear. That was good. He should be afraid.

"Because I'm gonna gut you." Rayne stopped her laughing suddenly, staring mercilessly at the man. He struggled, kicking and shouting more, but she kept hold. "Shut up, fool! Die quietly, like I want you to!"

She threw him to the ground, where he tried to scramble away. Too slow. Rayne drew Fang, stabbing it in his leg, sinking deep. In a way, the feel of flesh parting in the wake of a blade felt good to Rayne. It felt natural. His back arced in pain, his eyes going wide. Too much pain. He wasn't registering it.

"You're gonna die here, fool." Rayne climbed on his back, gripping the hair on the back of the head. "My luck was wasted on a pig like you. You're not notable. You're not useful. Yet Adrian explicitly stated for you not to die, that I should just hurt you." Why not maintain the illusion that she was under orders from Adrian? It made this more funny. "I don't like you, though. What body part should go first?"

"T-T-T-This is murder! You can't do this!" The man screamed, thrashing. Rayne just laughed, easily keeping the man under her, drawing Blightblood.

"This blade is corrupted with darkspawn blood, you know. I was told it was cursed, but I don't believe them. What I do know is that a cut from this blade, or even a touch by the acid dripping from it, will burn in unbearable, permanent pain." Rayne smiled, knowing the man could see her out of the corner of the eye. "Let's start with your arms."

"Wait!" Shivs had finally arrived, panting from the effort it took to catch up. "Boss said not to kill 'im! You can't do that."

"I'll do what I want." Rayne turned back to the thrashing man again. Now he was crying, begging, even. Yet he still thrashed. Why would he do that? Better remedy that.

Rayne slashed downwards, taking off his right arm just above the elbow. There was a delay between the severing and the pain, and it cracked Rayne up. It seemed the hilarity of the situation only increased with a direct correlation to the pain the fallen man's pain.

"Stop, Cap'n!" Shivs grabbed Rayne's arm just as she raised it again to take another swing. Bad move.

Rayne kicked Shivs legs out at the same time she jumped up, bringing her knee in contact with the falling man's chin. He flipped back onto the ground, groaning. He didn't even know what hit him.

"There she is!" Rayne turned as a group of Ferelden's approached, rickety weapons in hand. More came in from behind her, appearing out of doorways, shops, windows, roofs. Everywhere. The woman who spoke bore an evil grimace, staring at the armless man on the ground. "We've had enough of guard violence! We've had enough of Adrian!"

"You think you can stop me?" Rayne grinned wickedly, drawing Fang from the screaming man's leg, leveling it with the woman who spoke. "That's just funny."

"We outnumber you." The woman's hands were shaking. Fear. She couldn't even use a weapon, so why did she come out with a broomstick? There were four others in her group, each with equally useless 'weapons'. What was more worrisome was the dwarf who had emerged from a weapon stall behind her, trailing him was five or six men, each armed with swords. As people continued to pour into the Market District, Rayne knew she was surrounded.

"Twenty of you? Thirty of you?" Rayne licked her lips, tasting the bloodlust. "Come on. I'll gut every one of you. And I'm gonna enjoy it too."  
And then she started laughing.

ooo

Ryal rushed through the Irregular's hideout, kicking open doors, tripping over scattered objects, making a general mess of things. Where was everybody?

"Shit!" Ryal kicked, knocking over a table. "I'm too late!"

Indeed he was. The entire hideout was deserted. There was no clue of what happened. There was no blood or scarring on the floors or walls, so there couldn't have been a fight. Neither did anything seem disorganized or strung about. The Irregulars had been given enough time to organize and move out.

"Damn it!" Ryal picked up a clay bowl, flinging it towards the wall. It shattered, dust emanating from the impact site. R was already moving ahead with his plans. He couldn't stop him.

Ryal rushed to Taoran's room, flinging open the door. There was nothing. Taoran's bed sheets were made, his armor and weapons removed. His fire was even put out.

There was nothing here.

Running his hands through his hair, Ryal paced, thinking. Where could they have gone? How could a hundred-odd men organize and march in only a few hours? He hadn't been gone that long!

"I need to find R." Ryal took off running, passing through the halls, up the stairs towards the alley door that led to the outside.

And there, tacked on the inside of the door leading to the outside, was a note. Its positioning explained why he hadn't noticed it when he barged inside, kicking aside any obstructions in his way.

What was disturbing, however, was the contents of the note.

"_The final piece has been put in place. Adrian shall fall in hours. Rejoice in this victory, Ryal. Soon this shall all be over._" Ryal mouthed near-silently. R's plan was unimpeded, despite everything. Ryal needed to stop him. He needed to end this madness!

Ryal stalked outside, one hand crumpling the note, the other clenching and unclenching. Where would R be at this stage in his plan? He told nobody of his methods, despite how open he was with the desired results. Where could he be? Where could over a hundred men and a mage disappear to?

He got his answer in the form of a bloody, bruised and thoroughly distraught elf running into him. Rayne barreled into him, nearly knocking him over. He wrestled with her for a few seconds, and she fought dirtily, frantically fighting to escape from his grasp.

"Enough! Girl!" Ryal dragged her inside the Irregular's base, shutting the door behind him while simultaneously struggling to keep her from stabbing him. "It's okay! I'm a friend!"

ooo

Rayne kicked and bit, but the large man could not be stopped. She recognized the style, though. The man who captured her before, the one with the greatsword. The one she recently started working with...

"Ryal...?" Rayne finally calmed herself, taking in her surroundings. She was safe now, it seemed. Safe, but hurt. Badly.

"What happened to you, girl?" Ryal let go, gawking at the various wounds she was bleeding from, blood flowing down her legs, covering her armor.

"It's a riot, Ryal. A full blown battle." Rayne gasped out between breaths, still struggling to adjust herself to temporary safety. "At first I was... I was..."

"Go slowly. Explain everything." Ryal looked afraid, but Rayne knew his fear was nothing in comparison with what she just experienced.

"It's a battle out there, Ryal. And it's heading towards the palace. They're aiming to tear down the walls to get at Adrian." She shook her head, sending blood flying.

"But how did this happen?"

"I was fighting... some peasants. It... felt weird. Like I wasn't entirely lucid." Rayne still gasped, but her lungs were finally beginning to return to normal. "I was outnumbered, but doing well. But then... a hundred or so men just joined the fight. And then guards started fighting, and it turned into a battleground. The guards angered the crowd and the crowd massacred them, then the new men started shouting and leading a riot. They've quadrupled in size since. I barely got out alive."

"A riot? The guards were massacred by the peasants?" Ryal was shocked. That much was obvious. How could this happen?

"Yeah. And there's more."

"What?"

"R's leading the charge."


	18. Blood for Blood

**Chapter 17: Blood for Blood**

_"Adrian." Irving nodded as the mage apprentice walked into the Senior Enchanter's office, annoyed look on his face. "What's the matter, young one?"_

_ "Hardly young, Irving." Adrian folded his arms, annoyed. "Senior Enchanter Juvens is being bias in his teachings. I want to switch to a new tutor, one less mentally compromised and incompetent."_

_ "How many of our best mages do we have to replace before you're satisfied, Adrian?" First Enchanter Irving shook his head, folding his arms in front of him. "I understand your talents are beyond the norm, but you can't simply discard teachers who disagree with you."_

_ "It's not because-"_

_ "I heard about the argument from one of the Templars." Irving shifted in his seat behind the desk. "Calling him a waste of skin, or that his teaching would only amuse toddlers with disabilities is not the most effective way to get on a man's good side."_

_ "So?" Adrian scoffed, folding his arms. "He's an imbecile. With my talent, I deserve much more than a fool teacher any man could buy for a few coins."_

_ Irving sighed. He got up, walking to the bookshelf on the side of his office, fingering through the various tomes that adorned it. After a moment of searching, he picked one out, tossing it to Adrian._

_ "Maybe it is best you teach yourself, then. Study on your own." Irving slowly paced in front of his desk. "It's been thirteen years since you were brought to us, and you've never ceased being trouble for this tower. Your powers as a mage are great, but your lack of regard for social rules or etiquette and your continual denial of responsibility for your actions worries me."_

_ "So I don't act the way the templars want me to? So what? I can go my own path, without being slapped around by a false god and his templars." Adrian tore open the tome, eyes roaming the contents of the pages. Satisfied, Adrian turned to the door._

_ "Wait!" Adrian groaned before turning. Irving suddenly had a concerned look on his face. "False god? You are not a believer in the Maker, are you?"_

_ "No. What? Is that another requirement of being a 'proper' mage in the Circle?" Adrian glared, but that only covered his growing sense of concern. If Irving knew what Jowan had been teaching him in secret..._

_ "Just be careful who you say that to." Irving looked worried, which made Adrian shift on his feet. "The templars take sacrilege very seriously. If they see a mage who doesn't believe in the Maker, they are likely to order an investigation, a highly invasive one. I'm certain Myr wouldn't appreciate that."_

_ Adrian opened his mouth to retort, but stopped. Investigations were bad. Adrian nodded before leaving, shutting the door to Irving's office gently behind him. _

_ If there was an investigation, the tower might discover he was a blood mage, which definitely wouldn't be a good thing. Adrian hadn't yet seen a mage turn into an abomination, but he had been witness to a blood mage get exposed and executed. Not a pretty sight._

_ "A-Adrian!" The young mage turned, only to be annoyed by the approaching templar apprentice. Cullen. Adrian had never liked him, but Cullen got the strange idea in his head that they were friends. Probably Myr's fault. Cullen had a thing for her, after all._

_ "What?" Adrian kept his tone short and curt, openly displaying his displeasure at seeing the templar. Except he didn't respond. Everything was frozen. The tower... nobody was moving. Breathing. Anything. "What the hell?"_

_ "Damn. You were more of an arrogant ass than I thought you were." Adrian turned to see a young girl in a black dress approach. She didn't seem more than 12 years old, and her eyes... Her eyes were different colors. One red, the other yellow._

_ "Who the hell are you?" Adrian gripped the book tightly, narrowing his eyes. The girl only smiled wickedly. She seemed oddly familiar, but he couldn't place her face. "Why is nobody moving?"  
"I halted the memory." The girl approached slowly. "Oh. Right. You've got no idea what I'm talking about. Do you think you're actually here, in that body? You think this tower is a place? No. It's a construct of your mind. A memory."_

_ "What the hell are you talking about?" Adrian assumed an offensive stance, ready to cast a fireball if need be. "Speak sense, or shut up!"_

_ "You'll understand soon." To Adrian's surprise, a long, black scimitar appeared in her hand, edges wicked and sharp. It seemed to drip black mist, which faded as it detached from the blade. She leveled it towards Adrian, her smile disappearing._

_ "What... what are you doing with that?" Adrian backed away as she started to swing the sword, closer and closer to him. "That's dangerous! Stop!"_

_ "No." The girl smiled, lunging forward. Her sword dug into Adrian's chest, reaching through and breaking the skin on the other side. So this was what it felt like to get run through... And then came the pain. Adrian tried to scream, but his voice was paralyzed. He merely croaked, eyes trailing up towards the ceiling. His mouth hung open, a grotesque stare towards the sky, making a mockery of the Maker, if he truly was looking down upon them._

_ Adrian felt something tear, as if pieces of him were being ripped away one by one. The black dressed girl faded for a second, and Adrian could see her gritting her teeth, as if she was exerting herself somehow. Finally, he fell backwards, the sword withdrew from himself, and Adrian felt blackness encroach upon his vision._

_ Strangely enough, the last thing he saw before he lost consciousness was himself, talking to Cullen._

ooo

_ "Wake up, Father. We don't have much time left." Adrian opened his eyes slowly. He was lying on the floor of the Circle Tower. Or he thought it was. Wasn't this spot supposed to have bloody carcasses hanging from the walls, or demon corpses and whatnot? Adrian rolled over, ignoring the voice. He just wanted to sleep._

_ "Wake up, damn you!" Adrian found himself rudely awakened by a fist across his face, propelling him backwards towards the wall. Or, at least he thought it was a punch. Punches generally don't fling people back thirty feet._

_ "Maker! I'm up!" Adrian gripped the wall behind him, frantically searching the hallway for whatever could have hit him so hard. All he saw was mages, roaming the hallway. Except... they didn't seem to register him. They simply walked around, unresponsive. "Who did that!"_

_ "Me." She appeared before him suddenly, a familiar face. A young girl in a black dress with heterochromia. His daughter. How did he know that?_

_ "Why am I in the Circle Tower? This place was nearly destroyed. There shouldn't be apprentices..." The girl only rolled her eyes._

_ "Your confusion will wear off soon as your memories return. I finally figured out how to get you out of this place properly, unlike last time." Adrian cocked an eyebrow. Everything she said seemed to make sense but... something was missing. Like... memories?_

_ "I don't-" Adrian cut himself off as the images flooded into his head. Voices, songs, events, people, suddenly it made sense. He was just severed from his memories for the second time. A few seconds ago he had been reliving them, the times of his childhood, growing up in the Circle Tower. This day was when he... "I thought you abandoned me."_

_ "Don't be an idiot. I needed you to think I did so I could get to the source of the problem." His daughter actually smiled at him. "I got all the answers I need now. Turns out I was just wasting your time before hand. This could all have been avoided."_

_ "Right... Reliving most of my life in the Circle Tower was wasting my time." Adrian yawned before smiling back. "Actually felt like a nice nap. Except now I feel old. I guess that's a side effect of gaining two years of harsh memories in a span of moments."_

_ "You're conscious of time?" His daughter cocked an eyebrow, staring quizzically at him. Adrian nodded slowly. "Even while here?"_

_ "Well... yeah." Adrian slowly got up, gripping the wall for support. "That conversation with Irving took place two years before the Archdemon died, when I was nineteen. I remember this day keenly. Too much so."_

_ "Why?" His daughter turned towards Irvings office, though they could only barely see it from where they stood._

_ "My life changed on this day. Everything I knew was thrown upside down. The knowledge I valued, the insufferable pursuit of power that guided my every day suddenly seemed worthless. My arrogant behavior vanished. I stopped pulling pranks and being an asshole. It was exactly one year before my Harrowing." Adrian rubbed his head, recalling the events sadly. "The day Myr Surana died."_

ooo

"You know I can't consent to this!" Fergus stood as well, matching Saul's stare. It wasn't working. He needed something new. "Turning against Adrian would be political suicide!"

"Doing nothing would mean the deaths of thousands!" Saul yelled. "Adrian has served for too long! His reign of terror needs to end here, now."

"You would rather soil our family's name?" Fergus yelled back. "Mother and Father didn't die for nothing, you know! They died so that we could live, so we could keep our family name alive!"

"Bryce and Eleanor's deaths were tragic, but the issue is much greater here!" Saul couldn't believe he was saying it, but he was pulling out all the stops now. "If you care about the people, you will side against Adrian. He doesn't care about our titles. We shouldn't either!"

"But..." Fergus slumped back in his chair, looking downwards. "I knew Adrian. I knew who he was. He couldn't possibly change like that..."

"He did." Saul walked around the desk slowly. Looking at his brother now, pitiful and conflicted, he couldn't help but feel sorry and... responsible for it. "Adrian has changed. I don't know why and I don't know how, but he is not the same man who saved Ferelden from the Blight. Whoever that man was is now dead."

"I met him while he was on his way to the Brecilian Forest. Said he was looking for Dalish elves." Fergus talked slowly. "He was laughing and joking, poking fun at a bronze skinned giant who traveled with him. The tall man, said his name was Sten, was talking about cookies of all things. He was dead serious too. Adrian was laughing and complimenting him on a job well done..."

"Fergus, I-" Saul's gut clenched. Fergus had an emotional tie to Adrian. That was bad. It would make him much less likely to turn against him.

"I found out when we camped together that night they were talking about a fat child they had stolen food from. Adrian mentioned something about natural selection, and how he was just speeding along the process. Sten agreed." Fergus chuckled faintly. "I thought it was heartwarming I could find happy, joking people in a war-torn land, decimated by darkspawn and war. When we left the next morning, even though I was injured, I felt happy for the first time since Ostagar."

"He's not the same person, Fergus." Saul laid a hand on his brother's shoulder. "That man is gone. Who he is now is just a mockery of his former self. Do his memory honor by ending this madness, once and for all."

"I-" Fergus was cut short by the door slamming open. Sergeant Kylon stood, panting and gasping in the doorway. Multiple cuts and bruises showed under his armor, scarred as it was. Fergus reacted immediately. "What happened! Tell me immediately!"

"T-There was a battle in the Market District." Kylon spit out, struggling to talk through his gasps. "Adrian ordered guards to kill the rioters, but the crowd overwhelmed them. Some of the soldiers even joined the mob!"

"What!" Fergus jumped up, fearful look on his face. "How many soldiers joined in? How many are still here at the palace?"

"I-I'm not sure." Kylon glanced around. He was a strong man, stoic under pressure, yet this situation was undermining even his self control. "Adrian has left his room. He thinks the conspiracy has something to do with the man he's been searching for."

"He... cares about the rebellion?" Fergus looked back at the table, shaking. "Then it's all true. He's behind all of it. Adrian actually wants to find this man so badly he'd kill countless innocents..."  
"We need to act, Fergus." Saul said, putting pressure on Fergus' shoulder. His brother needed strength to make this decision. "It's now or never. Order your men to force Adrian from power."

"I'm in agreement, Teyrn." Sergeant Kylon stood at attention, despite his numerous wounds. "I've been witness to some of the pointless, random crackdowns on the populace. Adrian has lost his mind. I've heard him speak, how he beats the servants for trivial reasons. He's losing control of himself. I've heard talk he yells at mirrors, or nothing at all."

"I can't-" Fergus started, before Saul grabbed his shoulders, turning him to face each other.

"Fergus! Make a decision! Adrian needs to be stopped. If we sit by and do nothing, your soldiers will follow Adrian's orders! They'll assist in genocide!"

"I... Order the troops back, Sergeant." Fergus said quietly. "Have them protect the rioters from Adrian's men."

Sergeant Kylon nodded, saluting. He ran off down the hall to give the orders, not even questioning Fergus. A true soldier.

"Saul..." Fergus turned slowly. "Even with my men and the crowd, Adrian's troops will still do damage. We need to cut the head off the serpent. We need to find and... kill Adrian."

"I understand." Saul nodded. "I have an idea of where he might be."

"Then let's hurry. The longer we wait, the more people die."

ooo

"Hard ground is not good for my hair..." Myr turned over, struggling to stand. Somehow, she had fallen off her bed while in the coma R induced. The fact that she was awake meant Saul was doing his job, and that R no longer considered him necessary.

But R wasn't there, standing in the doorway or leering over her. Unusual, for him. He liked to gloat and show off his intelligence, or chastise someone, or start an argument just for the sake of it. The fact that he wasn't here meant he had moved into the final stage of his plan.

Myr slowly rolled over, struggling to stand. Her muscles were sore after being unused for the past few days, being that she had been in a magically induced coma. Before R put her out, he did warn her she might never wake up, if Saul didn't do his job. Looks like the Cousland could be relied upon, after all.

Looking around, she couldn't help but notice the lack of mess in the room. The weapons and armor that had been strewn across the floor were gone, replaced by light spots where they used to stand, evidence of the dust they had collected.

"I wonder what he's doing..." Myr absently fiddled with the window pane, staring into the alleyway. She was on the top floor of the Irregular's hideout, and still she couldn't see over the building just next to it. Whoever chose this hideout wasn't much for views, obviously.

Myr turned, surveying her room. Her mage robes were hanging on the door, their simple blue designs reeking of familiarity. Her memories of the tower swished around in her head, some fond, others less so. Faces of mages she once knew, those that must have died when the Circle Tower fell to demons. Myr couldn't help but wonder about her childhood, a time where memories would give no answers.

But maybe remembering was worse than forgetting everything? Whatever happened to her was traumatic enough to make her lose her memories, but not enough to kill her. Maybe it was necessary? If whatever had happened didn't, maybe she would never have journeyed to the Circle Tower. She would never have been trained in magic, and ultimately would remain a simple alienage elf, unimportant in the grand scheme of life.

In the end, everyone was only living for themselves, each action only a futile attempt at securing a more comfortable future. All too often that grip slips, dropping you further into indifference and non-notability. Myr knew she exemplified this perfectly. She escaped the Tower to find a better life but, in the end, couldn't fully escape the Templars. She knew they were within the city now, distracted by the civil unrest.

And they had her phylactery.

Myr knew it was a long shot, but she had a plan nonetheless. Slowly dressing herself in her robes, engulfed in the ever-familiar touch of the fabric, one more object of her imprisonment, Myr knew she only had one chance to free herself from the clutches of the Circle forever.

She should have let Saul murder them before. It felt like such a long time ago, though Myr knew it wasn't. Myr had always wished violence on no one, but R had finally convinced her otherwise. If one is not willing to force their own, perfect future, step on and kill people in order to do so, then they did not deserve an idyllic life.

After dressing, Myr searched frantically for her dagger. Luckily, whoever emptied the room of the armor and weapons left her small blade alone.

But templars were not easy to kill. If only she had Saul... No. She shouldn't wish for his help. Myr played a pivotal role in his manipulation. If not for Myr, R would never have gotten to Saul, would never have started this insane scheme of his. Myr didn't deserve Saul's help.

Myr knew exactly where to find the templars. She could feel them, and they could feel her. Blood draws itself to blood, and her phylactery wished to reunite with its owner.

And she would gladly oblige.

ooo

"We need to get out of here!" Ryal knew he should have been alarmed at hearing Rayne say that, but he had to admit she didn't seem like the scared type. It was almost amusing to see such a resilient elf disturbed by events around her.

Rayne's eyes were dilated, she was sweating, gasping and blood shone like a second coat of varnish on her armor. She was in bad shape, Ryal knew. Being surrounded and poked at with sharp objects would do that to a person.

Ryal only felt fear once he heard the crowd outside. Such a large group wouldn't maneuver itself down an alleyway to chase Rayne. Rayne wasn't their target. Adrian was. Judging from the direction of the sound, Ryal knew they were marching to the palace, and judging from the size of it, there was more of them than Rayne said.

He needed to look at them.

"Wait here, girl." Ryal lightly touched the elven girl lightly on the shoulder, turning to run. "I'm taking a better look. Just don't go back out there."

"No." Ryal stopped at her voice, glancing back at her. Damn women. They never listened. "I need to find Adrian. I have a score to settle."

"Do what you wish, then. I'll not stop you." Ryal saw her nod curtly, opening the door to the outside just before he turned away. He didn't hear the door close, as he was already running to the second floor.

Ryal skirted around empty barrels, weapon stands, armor. The kitchens were empty, the practice room devoid of life. The entire hideout, both above ground and below, was empty.

And it seemed there were ghosts too, as Ryal thought he saw a pale form in blue robes skirt around a corner just as he exited the top of the stairs. Ryal shook his head, knowing it was probably nothing. A trick of the light, probably.

He found what he was searching for easily enough, a trapdoor to the rooftop of the Irregular's hideout. Climbing the ladder swiftly, Ryal unlatched the door, shoving mightily against the old, heavy thing. Finally it gave way, swinging outwards.

Once on the roof, Ryal's breath held, terror gripping the hairs on the back of his neck. During the day he'd be able to see most of the northern half of Denerim from the roof of the Irregular's hideout, and much of the southern half as well. That's what made the sight so disturbing.

The crowd was rampaging, making its way slowly southwards towards the palace. But the size... There had to be over two thousand people, each waving torches, weapons or both. If the guards engaged them it could go either way. Their shouts filled the air, the stomping of their feet echoing throughout the city.

R had gotten what he wanted. A revolution. He had organized the masses. He had driven an already desperate people to the edge, each violently struggling to get back to safe ground, doing anything possible, including sacrificing those around them.

If the crowd didn't halt, or if Adrian wasn't killed, there would be war in Denerim. Ryal hastily looked about, searching for a swift route to the ground. Spying a rope, Ryal thrust himself over the edge, making his way towards the ground.

There wasn't much time left. R needed to be stopped.

ooo

Rayne could hear them all around her. Man and Elf alike, dwarves mixed amongst them. They were everywhere, and they wanted blood.

She skirted around atop the roofs, keeping one eye ever-trained on the crowd below her, making their way towards the palace. At this rate, they would storm Adrian's abode, dragging him from his throne to burn atop a pike.

But that wouldn't happen. She had to kill Adrian first.

Keeping footing on the shanty tiled roofs of the poorer sections of Denerim was hard enough, considering how fast she was running. Slipping more than once, the elf kept her eyes trained ahead, eyes struggling against the night to discern where to go next. One false step and she'd plummet to the ground below. If that didn't kill her, the crowd would. She started this, after all.

Rayne had long ago discarded her armor, running in a simple tunic and pants. While they made running about the tops of houses considerably less difficult, if she fell they would spell her doom.

Despite this, she had to press forward. Rayne leaped, clearing a chasm between two buildings in an effort to keep up with the crowd. Judging from their speed, they would be at the palace in mere minutes. Not enough time.

Rayne took a desperate leap across the main road, her hands grappling the edge of the roof on the other side. Slowly, she dragged herself up. She'd have to cross the bridge eventually, meaning she needed to touch ground. Not a pleasant idea.

Distracted by these thoughts, Rayne didn't notice the loose tile before she stepped on it. She slid forward a few feet, losing her balance. Tumbling over the edge, Rayne slammed into the wall on the other side before falling into an alley.

Groaning, Rayne slowly got on her hands and knees. Nothing appeared to be broken, but she was sore all over. It didn't help that some of her wounds reopened.

"It's her!" Rayn's head shot up. She wasn't within eyesight of the crowd of rioters, but there was a vaguely familiar woman with a broom standing a few feet away. She was backed by a few men with swords. Shit.

Rayne rolled backwards onto the balls of her feet, each hand gripping the handles to her weapons, drawing them slowly.

"She's the one that cut off Henry's arm!" Such a high, shrieking voice. That woman had to die. "Hurt her! Kill her! Do something to her! Anything!"

Slowly approaching, the men with swords kept their gazes focused on Rayne. Luckily, there was nobody behind her, which meant she could simply run if her wounds gave out. Still, she wanted that woman dead. She just needed to get around the four men with swords first.

The first charged forward, yelling, sword high over his head. An idiot, he wasn't blocking his chest or legs. Rayne darted forward, Blightblood slashing along his left side as she dodged around his strike. Fang finished him, sinking into his back. Rayne didn't even get a look at his face.

Two more men came on at the same time, this time with more conservative approaches. One struck forward adventurously while the other feinted a strike. Rayne didn't fall for either, keeping her blades forward, prepared for a real attack.

The one to her left, an older man with a beard, yelled and stabbed forward. Rayne dodged to the left, swinging Blightblood over the attack. Surprisingly, the other man parried the strike. Rayne jumped back to avoid a counter attack. She should have seen that coming.

Rayne backed away, drawing the bearded man further away from his partner. The one with the beard was more daring, which would be his downfall. Finally, he charged, swinging his blade over his head. Rayne sidestepped, slashing upwards with Fang, slitting both his wrists. With a grunt, the man's eyes popped open in pain. Blightblood stabbed into his side through and through, ending his life.

Another sword followed the falling man quickly as the remaining two men quickly came on, swords forward. Rayne could see anger on their faces. Good. Their rage would distract them, making them even easier to dispatch.

Rayne took the initiative, slashing at one blade with Blightblood, throwing the one on the left's weapon wide, perfect for a strike from Fang. Just as she was about to seal the deal, Rayne's leg buckled in pain as a wound reopened, dropping her to her knees.

She barely got Blightblood up in time to block the counter strike, but Rayne was at a disadvantage. Taking a risk, she darted under the next strike from the same man, slashing his legs with Fang, then upwards into his groin and stomach. He stood shocked as he realized he would die, but the risk left Rayne's back wide open.

Rayne gritted her teeth as she felt a blade slash her side. It was too far left to be fatal, but Rayne spun out of the way anyway, jumping to her feet. The last man persisted, shouting as he stabbed forward with his blade. Rayne barely dodged, Blightblood slashing his wrist, severing hand from body. Screaming in pain, the man fell to his knees, dropping his sword.

"P-Please spare me." The man blubbered out. Rayne just snickered, Fang shining downwards, digging into his skull.

Rayne extracted the blade with some difficulty, turning towards the woman with the broom, who stood with legs shaking. She glanced from side to side quickly, dropping the broom and running off. The pain stopped Rayne from chasing, but at 20 feet the woman was an easy target.

Fang left Rayne's hand in a flash, still coated in brain and blood. The blade flew through the air, faster than an elven eye could follow. The blade sunk in to the hilt, just above her heart, stopping her in her tracks. She wouldn't be screeching in that annoying voice anymore.

Rayne retrieved the blade slowly, holding her head. Her wounds were numerous, each reopened by the fight. Looking down, Rayne noticed the blood caking her clothes. There wasn't that much before...

She dropped to her knees, head becoming light, vision hazy. Too much blood loss. Rayne didn't even feel the ground when she hit it.

ooo

"R!" Ryal shouted through the doorway. The enigmatic mastermind stood on the balcony of the Arl of Denerim's rebuilt estate, surveying the crowd growing ever-closer to the palace. It had already crossed the bridge, only seconds away from breaking down the main gates to the palace courtyard.

"You found me?" R turned slowly. Taoran stood to his left, blank look on his face. "How surprising. I didn't know you had the intelligence in you. Looks like Raelnor had a reason for keeping you so close."

"I can't let you do this, R." Ryal leveled his greatsword towards the green hooded man. "For Raelnor, I will end you."

"You dare draw your sword and threaten me, boy? It's a pity you'd do this. Rebellion is not tolerated easily, considering the ramifications of such annoying deeds." R smiled, nodding towards Taoran, who drew his saber, face still blank.

"I won't play your twisted game any longer, R." Ryal kept his sword pointed at the mage, who seemed neither fearful or eager to stand down. "I know your plan is faulty and many will die because of it. I'm going to stop you."

"Aren't you a big fucking hero." R's smile disappeared, replaced by anger. "You've been a loose cannon from the start, always questioning your orders, probing for answers where you weren't supposed to. After Emer, I nearly decided to kill you too. I regret not doing so."

"Why? So that you wouldn't be facing your death at my hand now?" Ryal kept both his hands gripped on the great sword. Any movement from R and he'd have to strike.

"Ever confident, aren't you?" R reached towards Taoran, stroking his face slowly. "Just like your two former commanders. Raelnor would be proud of you, if he still drew breath."

"Two former commanders...?" Ryal cocked an eyebrow, but kept focused. He couldn't be distracted now. "What did you do to Taoran? He's Raelnor's only blood. He's-"

"Relax, Ryal." R grinned again. "He's not dead. Not yet."

"Then-"  
"But he wants to die. Oh boy, does he desire it." Ryal tightened his grip. The room was large, but not enormous. If there was a fight, the close quarters would make it difficult to swing a greatsword.

"What did you do to the commander?" Ryal gritted his teeth as R reached towards his hood, gently brushing it out of his face, down to his shoulders. Ryal nearly gasped.

Red eyes.

"He's my thrall, boy. A puppet. A plaything." R chuckled. "My magic can do wondrous things to the brain. It controls people, bends them to my will, unable to question in their annoying, whiny voices. It's manipulation, but ten times as fun!"

"You bastard!" Ryal shouted. "Yer a blood mage!"

"I'm much more than that." R chuckled, drawing his dagger. "En Garde!"

ooo

Myr drew her dagger just a few feet above the templar. He was alone, which was good. One good strike, and he'd be down.

It was time to end their hunt. Time to stop their torment. Myr would have her revenge. What she should have done so long ago, she would now execute.

Their lives were in her hands, and it was time to quench them,

Myr dove out from the balcony, dagger extended. The blade sunk into the templar's neck between helmet and plate armor, blood squirting out from the wound.

"There she is! The maleficar!" Myr stood, letting the remaining two templars get a good look at her. Blood covered the front of her robes, crooked smile adorning her face, empty stare gazing at the templars.

Myr leveled the dagger in front of her, feeling magic flow through her. Her freedom was so close. All she had to do was kill two more people. Two more templars. Two more servants to their false god.

Freedom was worth anything. Even murder.


	19. Freedom

**Chapter 18: Freedom**

_"The albino girl died?" His daughter glanced towards Irvings office, where the younger version of Adrian stood, trying to get rid of Cullen. "But she...? How?"_

_ Adrian smiled sadly, waving his hand. The memory started shifting, rearranging itself for a future event, one a few hours later. Now they stood in the apprentice quarters on the first floor, standing a few feet from two mage apprentices._

_ Myr and Adrian were arguing in low voices, careful to avoid any eavesdropping. Unfortunately, that did not include people observing the memory. Adrian and his daughter listened intently to the conversation._

_ "Come with me." Myr said, grabbing Adrian's hand. "You went through all that effort to plan an escape route. You have to come with! I can't survive on my own out there!"_

_ "If I come with, we'll both be caught. One person can remain hidden for longer; it'll take them more time to sniff you out with the phylactery." The younger Amell said seriously, leaning close to the elf. Adrian suddenly felt his gut tighten. He regretted this decision deeply. Watching it again was... painful. "If I stay behind, I can stall the templars. I might even be able to destroy the phylactery."_

_ "Then I can stay and we'll destroy both our phylacteries." Adrian could almost feel her hands on his again, though she was squeezing the memory-version of Adrian's hand. "We can both escape. Together."  
"Now is your only chance. The ferry pass I stole from Irving's office this morning will only be valid until the templars discover it's missing. It won't be too long until they do. You can't wait!" The memory-Adrian's face was set, his mind already made. Myr saw this, knowing there would be no chance to change his mind. "Kester will take you across as long as you have that pass, but you need to do so before the templars find out!"_

_ "There's no point if you're not with me. I love you!" Adrian's face contorted, but not with sadness. It was anger. "Even if I escape, I'll just come back again!"_

_ "Don't be an idiot!" Adrian forced his hands out hers, his voice raising slightly. He quickly got himself under control. "What you feel towards me is gratitude, nothing more. Love doesn't exist. It's an illusion. I'm giving you a life, so don't be stupid and throw it away for my sake."_

_ "But I-"_

_ "We have to do this now!" Adrian pushed her away, rushing to the door. Flinging it open, he ran towards Templar Bran, guarding the door._

_ "Wait!" Too late. The fireball left Adrian's hand moments after Myr reached him. It arced through the air, flying towards the templar. Unable to react in time to the surprise attack, the fireball blasted the templar against the door, knocking him unconscious._

_ "Now or never." Adrian grabbed the albino elf, thrusting her towards the door. She took a few hesitant steps forward. She glanced back once before running to Adrian, kissing him. Adrian spoke again, softly. "I'm sorry, Myr."_

_ "Don't be. I won't forget you." She backed away, gazing back at him before turning, running towards the door to unlatch it. Opening it slowly, she stole one glance back at Adrian. And then she was gone._

_ "I won't forget you either." Adrian mumbled, turning towards Templar Bran, who still lay unconscious, before walking away, back to the dormitories._

ooo

_"As most of you are already aware, a mage apprentice escaped from the Tower today. She violently assaulted Templar Bran, who was guarding the door, before escaping across the Lake to parts unknown. Greagoir and a contingent of Templars have been dispatched to deal with her threat as we speak." Irving's voice rang out in the library, gentle yet serious._

_ Irving stood at the head of the apprentices, having assembled them to make the announcement. Adrian and his daughter sat atop the shelves, staring over the amassed people. The memory-Adrian stood near the back, arms crossed, face blank._

_ "An escaped mage is a serious compromise to the safety of Ferelden, as it also is to all mages in this tower." Irving continued, wiping sweat from his brow. "For every renege on the oath all of you swore before entering this tower, the Circle suffers. We exist to protect the mages from those outside, as well as from ourselves. The escapee will be hunted down and, if she resists, will be executed."_

_ Gasps and murmurs arose from the crowd as people began to formulate questions. More than one query popped up above the crowd, addressed to Irving. The memory-Adrian said nothing, staring at the First Enchanter._

_ "Calm down, all of you. Her death would be her own fault, as all of you should realize. The Circle Tower is not a playground. This is your life. To abandon all that we have struggled to uphold is tantamount to suicide." Irving was good with a crowd, his voice silencing all questions. "As mages, we have a duty to ourselves, to those around us, and to those who are not like us. Myr Surana has revoked that duty and is no longer one of us. Such is the consequences we must burden ourselves with."  
Irving walked off the stage, moving through the crowd towards the back, retreating to his study to think, most likely. He stopped suddenly in the center, staring towards the end of the library._

_ "First Enchanter!" As if in response to Irving's sudden alertness, Greagoir's voice rang out over the din of the library. Irving stared towards where the voice came from, pushing his way through the crowd. Greagoir stood by the entrance to the Library, leaning against the door, blood pouring from under his armor._

_ The crowd gasped at the sight of him. Memory-Adrian unfolded his arms, walking slowly towards the Templar-Commander. Irving and Greagoir viciously discussed something in low tones, too quiet for the rest of those gathered in the room to hear. Shortly after, Irving turned towards the crowd, his face crinkling with emotion._

_ "Greagoir has just informed me that..." Irving paused. The crowd hung on Irving's every word, listening intently to his every word. Even Adrian's daughter looked alert. "Myr Surana was captured, but resisted. She killed four templars before Greagoir gave the final blow."_

_ "NO!" Adrian shouted. All turned to look at him, wondering about the sudden outburst. "She's not dead! She can't be! Where's her body!"_

_ "I was unable to retrieve her corpse, Adrian." Greagoir gasped out, despite his wounds. Irving lay a hand on his shoulder to steady him. "We fought over a cliff on the road to West Hills. She fell off the edge. I know you two were close... I am sorry."_

_ The memory-Adrian collapsed to his knees as the image started to fade. Adrian's daughter looked at him, annoyed at Adrian for halting the memory._

_ "Why'd you stop it there? I was just getting interested in it." She walked a few steps away, arms crossed._

_ "Forgive me if I find that part a bit painful." Adrian laid down on the whiteness, arms behind his head. "I've had enough of this. What were the answers you found out? How do we get out of this place?"_

_ "Simple." She turned back to him, drawing one of her scimitars. "We have to bring Mouse here. Unfortunately, you have to kill the demon yourself. If I wind up striking the final blow, I'll get control of your body, and I don't really want that."_

_ "What?" Adrian sat up, surprised. "You mean, I have to fight him? Wrestle for control of my body, or something like that? I knew I'd have to do that eventually, but..."_

_ "It's the same as what you did to Connor in Redcliffe, we lure the demon-"  
"There's no need to bother, girl." Adrian shot up to standing, recognizing the voice. Mouse stood a few yards away, crooked smile on his face. It was the same human form he took when they first met in Adrian's Harrowing, such a long time ago._

_ "Mouse!" Adrian tensed. The demon only smiled. Adrian's daughter drew her second scimitar, walking to Adrian's side, keeping her eyes focused on the demon._

_ "I grow tired of your incessant running about in my head. It's driving me sane, which I certainly do not want." Mouse's smile suddenly disappeared. "You distract me, boy!"_

_ "Boy?" Adrian couldn't help but feel somewhat insulted, despite the circumstances. "You speak so lowly of the man who kept you imprisoned for over a year. You should have some respect for your betters, demon."_

_ "If you truly were my better, you wouldn't have let me take control." Mouse rolled his eyes. "As soon as Urthemiel passed through you, I got my chance. A real mage couldn't let that happen."_

_ "You forget who you speak to, Mouse." Adrian cocked a grin. "I'm the only man in Thedas who restrained you for so long. Defeating the Archdemon is a once in a life time battle, one I don't plan on repeating once I kick you out."_

_ "Demon." Mouse snapped his eyes towards Adrian's daughter as she addressed him. "Gaxkang calls to you even now, yet you have grown deaf to his cries. You are the one who isn't as powerful as you once were. You are but a shadow of your former strength without him, a sliver of darkness in a vast band of light."_

_ "Silence, creature!" Mouse shouted, his voice seeming to shake the whiteness around them. Adrian thought he saw images flash through, memories of fire and death. "I have existed for millennium! I am immortality itself, a personification of godliness upon this decrepit land! Stand against me and you shall fall!"_

_ "Arrogance forgets those who came before, demon." Adrian glanced down at his daughter, whose tone had grown cold. "You are not God. Dumat was, and he lies dead, slain by the Grey Wardens, one of which you face now. I hold Urthemiel within me, heavenly contour of beauty itself. You cannot stand against us both."_

_ "I can and I will. I'll banish you, creature, before you even have a chance to take your first breath." Mouse smirked. "This conversation gets us nowhere. I have matters to attend to in the real world, and I'd prefer not to let a minor nuisance get the better of my time."_

_ "Then let's end this, Mouse." Adrian extended his arm, his staff appearing in his hands. "It's about time I got my body back."_

_ "With pleasure."_

ooo

Taoran came on fast, uncaring for defense. Ryal could barely block in the enclosed space, unable to strike either. Taoran kept pushing, forcing Ryal out the door and into the next room. R followed at a distance, occasionally licking his dagger.

"You humans are so funny, you know?" R spoke, watching Taoran beat on Ryal, similar to how an amused child watched two chickens fight. "Despite how I can operate in your best interests, there's always some resistance. Why can't you be happy with peace through manipulation?"

"You don't care about us!" Ryal struggled against the weight of Taoran's sword as the commander flung himself on Ryal, his weight bearing him down. "You care about yer precious revolution! Yer reasons don't even matter!"

"I care about this revolution because I know Adrian needs to die." R frowned, examining Ryal. "I always thought you were smarter than the average Chasind barbarian, but it seems that isn't the case. Haven't you figured it out yet?"

Ryal jumped backwards, letting Taoran fell forward, his defense lowered for just a second. Without enough time to put in an actual strike, Ryal punched, catching Taoran on the jaw. The blow tossed the man back, giving Ryal time to chop downwards at Taoran. The strength of the blow knocked the blade out of his hand, but Taoran ran forward, grabbing Ryal around the waist.

"Git off!" Ryal struggled, nearing dropping the greatsword. He was larger than the thrall, but Taoran had some sort of unnatural strength, capable of pinning Ryal's arms to his side. Seeing no other options, Ryal headbutted, taking Taoran between the eyes, shattering his nose.

"There's so much more to this than you can even fathom, Ryal." R continued, pacing on the other side of the room. "If I die here, if you somehow miraculously kill me, not only will everything be in vain, but Adrian will also never be defeated. I am the only one who can deal that final blow."

"Really? Sounds like you've got a serious mental illness!" Ryal pushed Taoran back, who was bleeding profusely from between the eyes. Ryal swung his sword around, the flat of the blade slamming into Taoran's skull. With a large crack, Taoran flew to the side, unmoving.

"Clever. You can't kill him, so you knock him out." R smiled, dagger flitting through the air in front of him, his hands weaving about. "I guess you've earned a shot at me, then."

"Gladly taken."

ooo

Myr never forgot how difficult fighting templars were. It had been two years since she last crossed blades with them, though the fight had cost her gravely. Their anti-magic had overwhelmed her in the end, but she had fought 5 templars, including Greagoir. Now she only faced two.

The two that remained each had their helmets off. Two humans, one male and the other female. The male wielded a greatsword, the female with a sword and shield. She recognized them, the same templars who nearly discovered Saul and her in the outskirts of Denerim. These two were young, which meant she just killed the commander. Good. The less experienced, the better.

"Myr Surana." The male spat, staring intently. "Long have I awaited this day, the day I can avenge the death of my brother."

"Your brother?" Myr smiled, her dagger dancing in front of her. She remembered this boy. Aaron. Nice enough templar, except for the fact he was now trying kill her. His brother died trying to recapture Myr over a year before. "You mean the worthless sack of crap I tossed off a cliff in West Hills? He didn't even land a blow. Kinda bad for a templar, I think."

"You'll die for that, maleficar." He fiddled with his greatsword. Rage would make him act stupidly, perfect in this situation. An angry templar was a dead templar.

"Like your dear commander?" Myr laughed, smiling as she wiped blood from her face. Maker be damned, violence felt good. It always did. Myr vaguely wondered why she suppressed these feelings for so long, even when she was around Saul. She had developed a pacifist nature because she didn't fight while she was fleeing the templars. A natural response, considering the only ones who hated fighting were those who weren't violent.

"Control yourself, Aaron." The female said, laying her hand on his shoulder. He shrugged it off, fuming. "If you lose sight of your emotions, this battle will not end well. Find strength in the Maker."

"Andraste guide my blade and forgive me, but I wish to see Myr dead, Justine." Aaron charged, greatsword raised. Myr dodged to the left, tossing a bolt of magic to the female. She dove out of the way at the surprise attack. Myr bolted towards her, dagger held ahead.

Not fast enough. Justine raised her shield in time to block Myr's stabbing. The elf jumped back, leveling the dagger in front of her again, ready for another attack from Aaron. Predictably, he charged, shouting the Chant of Light.

Myr didn't react in time to dodge, her dagger moving up to parry the blow. Bad move. The weight of the greatsword pushed her off balance, leaving her left side open. Justine noticed the opening, stabbing forward with her sword.

Luckily, the templars hadn't thought of dispelling her magic, and the blade bounced harmlessly off of Myr's shield. The mage smiled as Justine cursed, realizing her mistake. Myr jumped back, unharmed. She knew she wouldn't be able to pull that trick a second time.

"Heaven has been filled with silence, I knew then, and cross'd my heart with shame." Aaron chanted, swinging his blade towards Myr. The elf jumped out of the way, stopping just in time to parry a sword strike from Justine. The two templars knew each others styles well, complimenting each others openings and keeping their strikes in tandem.

"Let the blade pass through the flesh, let my blood touch the ground, let my cries touch their hearts. Let mine be the last sacrifice." Justine joined in as Myr danced away from a sword strike.

"Gladly!" Myr shouted, conjuring a fireball towards Justine. It dissipated harmlessly off her shield, meaning they had finally started putting their templar talents to use. Panicking, Myr jumped up some stairs. They led to a landing, giving Myr the high ground. She didn't have much time to use it, as the templars followed, relentless in their attacks.

"Those who oppose thee shall know the wrath of heaven. Field and forest shall burn," Aaron and Justine chanted together. Aaron's greatsword swung over Myr's head, her duck barely saving her from decapitation. The sword embedded itself in the wood of the building, sticking.

"Shut it already!" Myr rolled back, kicking the sword away. Aaron, off balance, fell backwards. Taking a chance, Myr jumped off the platform, tossing a fireball at the side of the building as she fell.

The heat and shock of the impact followed Myr in her descent to the ground. She turned as she landed, hoping to see two charred templar corpses. They had been blown backwards but, unfortunately, they were seemingly unharmed, their anti-magic and armor protecting them from most of the explosion.

"The seas shall rise and devour them, the wind shall tear their nations from the face of the earth," They continued after they stood, charging at Myr again. Fear started to grip at the elf as she realized these two were offering no real openings. She couldn't find a way to deal a lethal blow.

"Lightning shall rain down from the sky," Aaron's blade rose in the air as he came in for a strike. Justine closed in on Myr's left. "They shall cry out to their false gods, and find silence."

ooo

"How many times have you collapsed from your wounds, my dear?" Rayne slowly came to consciousness. Surprise filtered through her senses, realizing she hadn't yet died. "Why, if I never found you, you'd just simply die. I hope I get rewarded somehow."

Zevran stood over her, smiling as Rayne opened her eyes. Not a pleasing moment to be awakened by a backstabbing, adulterous assassin. Even more surprising was Shianni, who stood a few feet away, arms folded in front of her.

"I didn't think you would care enough to bandage me." Rayne croaked out, looking down at her body. She had been laying against the wall of the alley, not having been moved far from where she killed her assailants.

"It was Zevran's idea. I'd be content leaving you to die." Shianni retorted sharply, looking away. Rayne just smiled.

"Excuses." Rayne slowly got to her feet, denying Zevran when he extended a hand to help. "How bad were my wounds?"  
"Bad enough to stop you from engaging in any murderous activities any time soon. Cuts and bruises all over your body, you naughty girl." Zevran chuckled. "You had a few broken ribs, too. I assume that's from the fall, or are you engaging in something I don't know about?"

"You saw me fall?" Rayne stared. "Why didn't you help me fight off those peasants?"

"I saw no reason to assist in murder." Shianni said bluntly, glancing down the alleyway. "Zevran, the riot should already be at the gates. We should go. Say your goodbyes."

"How about Rayne comes with me? I sure wouldn't mind the company, since you can't join me." Zevran smiled, looking back to her. "It would be quite boring without someone to talk to."  
"Save it, Zevran. I refuse to help that traitor any longer." Rayne rolled her eyes as Shianni spoke. "She betrayed my people."

"Traitor this, traitor that. Get over yourself, Shianni. I did what I had to in order to survive." Rayne shot back. "You would have done the same in my position."

"No. I wouldn't. I would have seen the sense in turning down Vaughan's offer. I wouldn't have turned my back on my entire life! I wouldn't have discarded everything I held dear!" Shianni yelled, stalking over. "I would have valued our friendship too much."

"Yeah, well, I obviously don't." Rayne said dryly. She grew tired of this bickering. But to her surprise, Shianni's hand arced through the air, slapping Rayne soundly. She was crying.

"I know." Shianni backed away slowly, head falling.

Surprisingly, Rayne found no words to respond. Instead, she turned to Zevran, who hadn't reacted to the spectacle.

"I don't consider you a traitor, Zevran. You did what you had to." Zevran looked like he was about to speak when Rayne continued. "And whatever you're asking I can't do, Zevran. I need to find Adrian."

"Suit yourself." Zevran shook his head, signaling defeat. "I won't stop you if vengeance is all that you've got on your mind. It's not any of my business."

"Good. And... Shianni..." Rayne looked at the crying redhead again, just as she was wiping her tears. Shianni stared back coldly. "Never mind."

And Rayne took off running, leaving the two behind her. She knew the sprinting would reopen some of her wounds, but the time to care was long behind her. She hurt. Everywhere. Her chest, her feet, her head, her arms. But that burning desire kept her moving forwards, out of the alleyway and into the main road, then across the bridge.

The burning desire of vengeance. The desire to see her misery repaid. To see Adrian die for betraying her, for leading her to her death. There were no doubts anymore. She had suffered enough. Her wounds were great enough. Her blood may flow from every orifice of her body and she'd still press onward, eternally working to see Adrian die.

As she sprinted towards the palace, growing ever closer to the riot she caused, the people she had enraged, the lives she had shattered, she knew she would do anything, everything, to see her vengeance satiated. She would burn cities. She would slaughter innocents. She would laugh as those around her suffered, as children screamed for their mothers, their cries never answered.

She had nothing left. For that, for her suffering, Adrian would pay. This fiasco would finally come to a close. The curtain on the Hero of Ferelden's life would fall forever. She'd make sure of it.

Rayne didn't dare think of what would come after.

ooo

Fergus and Saul emerged onto the Courtyard just as the crowd started assembling. Fergus' men had already joined the crowd, doing their best effort to keep them away from windows or from hurting others. Unfortunately, the masses were angry and they wanted action. They wanted a head on a pike.

"People of Denerim!" Fergus shouted, his voice amplified by the acoustics of the courtyard. He and Saul stood at the head of the rioters, standing upon the platform in front of the palace, looking out over the crowd. "You are angry! You are desperate! You have been pushed to the edge by a tyrant gone mad with power, one who seeks control over your very lives!"

The court erupted, yelling, screaming, people demanding answers for their pains. If Saul had been more sympathetic or caring to their state, he might have even felt sorry for them. Unfortunately, this was just a job.

"Adrian Amell has decided to abuse his power as Chancellor of Denerim in a pursuit of insane goals. Undoubtedly you have heard of the atrocities he has committed," A shout rose in response. "and of the brutality he has forced upon you.

"I say the time has come to end this. End Adrian's reign. End his insanity!" Fergus' powerful voice echoed over the masses of people. "Adrian has holed himself in the Landsmeet chambers with the remainder of his soldiers, a sick bid for time in the attempt of keeping himself alive. Already he is undoubtedly planning to escape. We will not let him!"  
A cheer rose, but Fergus raised his hands, quieting them. Saul was almost in awe of how well he could control the crowd.

"I was blinded by trust in Adrian before, but my judgment now is as clear as ever! Adrian shall degrade us no longer! His reign ends here! With the grace of the Maker and with the blessings of King Alistair and Queen Anora, Adrian shall be forever purged from the pages of history! He will fall!"

A wild cheer erupted. Fergus smiled before turning, addressing his guards to get in formation. Saul watched as they dragged a battering ram forward, leveling it towards the great doors of the Landsmeet chamber.

ooo

Ryal's blade slammed once into R's dagger, then twice. The man didn't even seem to budge, despite the weight of the blows. Every strike Ryal made, R parried expertly. Was he using magic to strengthen his body, like he did with Taoran? If so, Ryal was fucked.

"You can't win, barbarian." R snickered. "I'm too powerful. How long have you lived? 40 years? 45? You're nothing. Your 'mastery' with the greatsword is nothing but an illusion. You think you can use it well because you've won a few battles. So what?"

"At least I play fair." Ryal gasped, throwing a stool at R. The move seemed to come as a surprise. Ryal stabbed forward, hoping to take R in the stomach.

"Not so fast, merc." R's foot sailed out on Ryal's left, under the blade. It slammed into his stomach once, then twice. How did he move so quickly?

Ryal stepped back. The distance was but a momentary reprieve as R kept coming, dagger flashing back and forth. Ryal could barely keep his footing.

"Getting tired?" R's laugh echoed through the room. Ryal backed away. During the fight he had turned his back towards the balcony. A bad move. R was slowly moving him backwards, towards the edge. Towards his doom.

"Yer gonna... pay... R." Ryal growled out, shouting as he finally got a chance to take swing. His sword whistled through the air, but R nimbly dodged. Exactly as Ryal planned. He chopped down, but dropped the blade mid-air, jumping at R.

Ryal hit R square in the chest. Ryal felt a sharp pain in his side, but ignored it, focusing on Ras he forced them both backwards. R grunted, his hands grabbing at Ryal's arms. His fingers pried like crowbars, unnaturally strong.

"A cool trick. But not worthy of success." R pried Ryal off, picking the barbarian up at the shoulders. He tossed Ryal back, who soared through the air, touching ground as he hit the railing of the balcony, splintering the wood.

"Shit..." Ryal spit out, his strength waning. He coughed, blood pouring out of his mouth. "Never guessed an old man could throw me..."

"Never judge by appearances, my fickle friend." R wasn't smiling anymore, approaching slowly. He extended his hand, black and red energy flowing from his fingertips. "Don't worry. This won't hurt much. You fought well enough to die a quick death."

"I..." Ryal gurgled, coughing more blood up. R approached slowly, the black energy expanding quickly. "I don't even have anything to leave behind. The Irregulars were everything, and they're lost to me now."

"Don't worry. It's not like you'll notice it once you pass. Despite what the Chantry may say, there is no afterlife." R laid his hand on Ryal's head. "Good bye forever, Lieutenant Ryal. If you hadn't betrayed me, it still would have ended this way. I would've killed you anyway."

"No you don't!" R half turned at the voice, but didn't make it in time. Taoran collided with him, lurching R's grasp from Ryal's head. The momentum pushed them both forward, but R tripped over Ryal's feet.

Losing his balance, R yelled as he and Taoran fell over the already broken railing, disappearing into the night. Ryal heard the impact clearly, but saw nothing when he looked down.

Slowly, the mercenary made his way down through the rooms of the estate. He ignored his wounds, determined to see what happened to R and Taoran. Once he got below the balcony, Ryal gasped, running towards the impact site.

Taoran lay alone, leg and arm twisted at an awkward angle. There was no evidence of R anywhere. The Blackstone Irregular commander stared up at the sky, breathing heavily.

"Taoran!" Ryal fell to his knees by the man's side, examining his commander's wounds. "What the hell were you thinkin'?

"Did I get him?" Taoran laughed, coughing up blood. He squinted up at the sky, examining something in the distance. "Doesn't seem like it, huh? He just... vanished when we fell. Least you're okay, right?"

"Don't speak, boss." Ryal tore at his shirt, fitting it around one of the numerous wounds on his commander. "Everything'll be fine."

"Cut the doctor crap. I'm gonna die. I know that much." Taoran coughed again, laughing. "At least I had a choice in the matter. I feared I'd never be able to control myself again. Feels good to have... self control."

"Yer not dying boss. You saved me. You can't die now." Ryal furiously wrapped his wounds, feeling himself tearing up. "Yer Raelnor's only flesh and blood, boss. You can't die..."

"Don't get all sentimental. I know you thought me an arrogant ass. Shit. I can't even see anymore." Taoran laughed, coughing up more blood. "It's only 'cus I'm dying. Don't you be thinking otherwise. Now you listen here-" Taoran coughed, blood spraying over his chest. "You get that bastard, 'cus he ain't through yet. Avenge me, Ryal. For the Irregulars."

"For Raelnor." Taoran nodded.

"Aye." And he was gone, eyes staring emptily up into the sky. He died to save Ryal's life. His final action defied everything he had known about Taoran. Ryal had thought him overly ambitious, an arrogant jerk yet, in the end, he chose another over himself.

Ryal stumbled up to his feet slowly, edging himself away from Taoran's body slowly. But a sharp pain in his side stopped him. Feeling a wet trickle, Ryal looked down to his left side.

R's dagger was buried to the hilt in his abdomen, blood freely flowing from the wound. He had gotten the wound when he dropped the greatsword. Shit. He just didn't feel it, and here he was running around everywhere.

"Looks like I'm avenging no one." Ryal fell to his knees, gripping the blade. Ignoring the pain, Ryal yanked on it, slowly tearing it from his side. Once free, blood gushed out, splattering across the ground. Too much blood.

He fell on his back, eyes fixated at the sky. As Ryal stared into the night, he couldn't help but notice how beautiful the moon was. He kept staring even as blackness clouded his vision. He kept staring even when all went blank.

ooo

The ram struck once, vibrating loudly through the air. The crowd only cheered louder. It struck a second time, then a third. On the forth, the door splintered, giving way. Fergus smiled. The soldiers struck once more and the doors flew open. Fergus and Saul strode into the chamber, throwing the second set of doors wide.

Saul and Fergus drew their weapons, gazing at the man sitting astride the throne, at the archers placed atop the landings above. As Sergeant Kylon and a few soldiers strode in, the man on the throne raised his arm. The doors flew shut, bolts locking in place. Saul and Fergus looked behind them nervously as the soldiers outside began banging on the doors.

"Greetings, gentlemen." Adrian stood, his elegant velvet robe flowing from his shoulders, golden staff gripped in one hand. "I have a bit of a headache tonight. Let's make this quick."


	20. Beginning of the End

**Chapter 19: Beginning of the End**

"Here arises a quandary, friends." Adrian mocked, extending his arms. "There's only a handful of you and a handful of us. Yet I have archers, each ready to kill any number of you. I wonder where that leads our merry group?"

"Fight fairly, Chancellor. Die with honor." Kylon shouted, shield held up to his face.

"Even after all this time, you still address me as Chancellor. Isn't that charming?" Adrian grinned, slowly walking towards the assembled group. "But I grow tired of mortal games. Once I locate Vilhm Madon, I shall achieve godliness once more. None of you will be able to stop me."

"He's got delusions of grandeur. Great." Saul remarked dryly, slowly gripping his bow. "What's next? Maniacal laughter? Shaved cats?"

"These are not delusions, you fatally-inclined miscreants!" Adrian shouted, still smiling. "Even before my ascension, my power is unmatched! None can stand against me!"

"If we're so unworthy, you'd kill us yourself. Only cowards would rely upon archers to do their own dirty work." Fergus shot back, his own shield guarding his head. "Are are you afraid to admit you're as human as the rest of us? You're just a man with magic, hiding behind his soldiers. I'd be surprised if you even raised a hand to fight us."

"Silence!" Adrian slammed his staff into the floor, cracks of lightning shooting throughout the room. "Your words are meaningless! My power is unma-"

"Then prove it." Fergus taunted. "Arrows can kill any man. If you're not simply a megalomaniac, you'd fight us yourself."

Adrian blinked for a second before gritting his teeth. He suddenly started sweating, legs shaking. Saul cocked an eyebrow, curious.

"Damn all of you!" Adrian shouted. "Always questioning! Always resisting! Your lives are meaningless, yet still you struggle to survive! Why can't you accept the inevitable? None of you matter!"

"He's lost it." Saul shook his head, drawing back on the string of his bow, aiming at Adrian's heart. The archers on the landings drew theirs in response, aiming at Fergus and his men, but more than one seemed hesitant.

"You'd follow a madman?" Fergus shouted at the archers. More than one looked to each other, uncertain. "Adrian's losing grip on reality. Isn't it obvious he isn't fit to rule? Throw down your weapons and you will not be punished. Adrian shall be the only one held at trial."

No reaction at first, but Fergus' words sunk in slowly. The first archer released tension on his bow, followed by a second. Soon every one of Adrian's men had let down their arms.

"Traitors!" Adrian backed away, slamming his staff into the ground. His red eyes seemed to glow, as if fueled by his increasing rage. "Every one of you will die! I will not be denied!"

ooo

Rayne slipped again, dropping to one knee. She was losing blood fast, but still she pressed onwards, growing ever closer to the palace. Spying a shortcut, she ran into the Arl of Denerim's estate grounds. The construction scaffolding would likely give her a route to a rooftop, where she could spy a quick route to her destination.

She cut around the left, looking for a quick way out. After a minute of frantic searching, two things stopped her. The first was her leg, again giving way under pressure. The second were the two forms lying on the ground a short distance away.

Rayne cautiously neared them, drawing her weapons. Ryal and Taoran lay unmoving under a broken balcony, their wounds numerous. She had just seen Ryal an hour or so before, yet he was already dead? And why would anyone kill Taoran?

Checking their pulse, Rayne sighed. Both were dead. Taoran's body was twisted and bent, while Ryal had a deep stab wound in his side among various other cuts, some major and others not. An elaborately decorated dagger lay a couple of feet away, bloody blade revealing itself to be the weapon at fault.

"Tragic, is it not?" Rayne turned, ignoring the pains echoing through her entire body. R stood a few feet away, gazing at the bodies. His hood was down, revealing his entire face. He seemed... old. Weary.

"You killed them, didn't you?" Rayne replied bluntly, picking the dagger up slowly. It was a fine weapon, blade shining gold in the dark, hilt decorated with green veins. "This is your dagger."

"What's it matter, girl?" R walked past her, his replies unemotional. "Your life would remain unchanged by their demise, thus the facts are irrelevant. Given time, you won't even care. In the end, the only lives people care about are their own."  
"And you would know?" Rayne narrowed her eyes, staring at the green robed man. He seemed... different. Not only did he seem older, wearier, but this was the most sober she had ever seen him. No jokes. No sarcastic remarks. He was being serious.

"Two lives to serve a greater purpose is no crime." R turned, staring directly at Rayne. Red eyes, like blood, but they reeked of familiarity. "You, of all people, can understand this. Power through blood, wisdom through longevity, knowledge through magic. No matter how much perseverance and effort a mortal has, they will always fall short of those key principles."

"Who are you?" Rayne held R's dagger towards him threateningly. "You're not a simple old man. You aren't even a simple information barterer, not when you're starting revolutions. Tell me the truth."

"What does the truth matter, Rayne?" R shook his head. "I could tell you my name, my origins, my life story, but you would never understand who I really am. Truth is relative, thus ultimate truth is a myth, an elegantly constructed lie. To you, selling Shianni was the proper course of action. To her, it was worthy of death. Am I expected to know which is right, or more true?"

"How do you know of my past?" Rayne narrowed her eyes, gaze unflinching. "I want answers, not semantics."

"Then follow me, if you can." And he was gone. Rayne rubbed her eyes, staring at the space he was before, thinking herself hallucinating. No. He had disappeared.

The dagger vibrated in her hand, pulling towards the palace. It wanted to be returned to its master, Rayne knew, though she wasn't certain why. R was seeking Adrian.

ooo

_Adrian dodged to the side as Mouse's bolt of lightning flew past, embedding itself into the wall before evaporating, holes remaining where rock once was. Adrian dove from his hiding space, launching his own firebolt in return._

_ It hit squarely yet dissipated harmlessly. Mouse cockily walked forward, another lightning bolt departing his fingertips. Adrian dodged again, but almost too slow, singeing the end of his robe._

_ The scene started shifting again, the vision of Harach's courtyard spinning, wildly transforming into grassland, the landscape covered in a sea of spikes protruding from the ground, each with a corpse impaled upon it._

_ "You can't fight me, boy." Mouse mocked, hidden amongst the sea of bodies. "I own this place. I own this world. Your arrogance knows no bounds if you seek to defeat me in my own domain."_

_ "Less talking, more dying!" Adrian darted out from behind a spike, small projectiles of stone erupting from his hands, shattering spikes as they shot towards Mouse's voice._

_ "Your pitiful attempt at escaping only amuses me." Mouse mocked, emerged from the dust cloud unharmed. "I control this realm. I'm as powerful as I wish and you as weak as my desires dictate. This is but a game."_

_ "Then why aren't I dead yet?" Adrian ran to the side, avoiding a counter attack from Mouse. He hid behind one of the spikes, keeping his head away from the rotting figure upon it. What kind of memory was this?_

_ "You only survive because I want sport. I want action." Mouse snickered. "Ruling Ferelden can be such a drag sometimes. With no challenges, all I do is sit around bored, beating up a few servants when I feel like it. I almost miss the Archdemon."_

_ "How nice." Adrian reached his hand around the spike, shooting electricity from his fingertips. It didn't work. Mouse was unfazed. He still walked ever forwards, closer and closer to Adrian._

_ "Such arrogance, demon." A black scimitar appeared, cutting through Mouse's chest. He jerked, mouth hanging open. Adrian's daughter stood behind him, twisting the blade. "Adrian! Finish him!"_

_ "No... No please..." Mouse trembled as Adrian turned, running towards, arm extended. Suddenly he smiled, wicked grin stretching across his features. "I'm not done pummeling you two yet."_

_ Mouse jumped forward, blade still stuck in his chest. He turned in mid air, fists lashing out towards Adrian's daughter, two blows catching her in the chest. She flew back a few feet, recovering quickly, her second scimitar appearing in her hand._

_ "This is my mind, fools." Mouse grinned. "Don't expect to oust me so easily."_

ooo

"Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter." Myr jumped back, avoiding a sideswipe from Aaron. Justine's sword soon followed, barely deflected by the albino's dagger. They were pressing her much too hard for Myr's taste. Soon she'd run out of space. Once that happened, she'd be dead.

"Isn't there a grain of intelligent thought in your minds?" Myr shouted, parrying another strike from Justine. Myr stepped to the side, launching a firebolt towards Aaron before stabbing at Justine again. The diversion worked, but Myr's dagger bounced harmlessly off Justine's shoulder plate. A miss.

"Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just." Aaron shouted, recovering from the fireball in time to stab forwards.

"You know what I remember, Aaron?" Myr said, jumping back again. "Your brother was a screamer. Did you ever know that? I cut him up quite a bit before ending that pathetic life of his!"

"Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow!" Aaron yelled, stabbing again, though his foot stepped out of his expected formation. Myr took the chance, ducking under his blade, her dagger stabbing into his robed legs, burying itself between two plates.

Myr kicked Justine's sword away, buying herself time to scramble to her feet, gaining ground. Aaron shrieked in pain at the strike, but Myr's dagger remained embedded in his leg. Now she had no weapon.

"In their blood the Maker's will is written!" Justine chanted. Myr turned, running away. At this rate, the templars would defeat her. She needed to find a weapon fast.

Justine and Aaron gave chase but, predictably, Aaron lagged behind. Myr ducked into an alleyway, searching for something, anything, to fight with. Spying an old pitchfork, Myr grabbed it, leveling it towards the entrance of the alley.

"Wait for it..." Myr said to herself as the templars appeared, heading directly towards her. "Wait for it..."

"At Shartan's word, the sky grew black with arrows." Justine and Aaron kept shouting. Damned religious freaks, disrupting Myr's concentration. "At Our Lady's, ten thousand swords rang from their sheaths."

Myr threw the pitchfork as Aaron raised his greatsword, stepping forward to strike. The pitchfork fell short, pinning Justine's robe to the dirt. The templar stumbled, falling forward. Unable to avoid Justine, Aaron fell over her. Myr ran forward, jumping onto Justine's back, grabbing for the dagger protruding from Aaron's leg.

As the albino elf freed the blade, Aaron shrieked in pain. Myr plunged it towards Aaron's head, but not fast enough. Justine's metal fist came first, catching Myr on the jaw.

Stumbling backwards as stars flew, Myr struggled to maintain her grip on the dagger as the templars regained their posture. At least she got the dagger back.

ooo

_Adrian watched his daughter exchanging blows with Mouse, her black scimitar flying back and forth, striking Mouse's bare hands. They moved faster than his eye could catch, but Mouse kept his ground, smiling._

_ "Urthemiel was a mighty, male Old God, wasn't he?" Mouse said, smiling. He didn't even seem bothered by the endless exchange of attacks, though Adrian could tell his daughter was winding down. "Why would he choose the form of a weak female? I understand he was trapped there, but how do you expect he'll be happy in that body?"_

_ Adrian struggled to keep up with the fighting, but the scenes were rapidly changing. For every step he made towards Mouse and his daughter, he made four steps back, confronted with a door, a rock, anything to keep him away._

_ "You test the power of an Old God, demon." She said, scimitar knocking away Mouse's arms, opening his head for a strike. As the scimitar flew in, Mosue fazed away, reappearing a few feet away. "Your bluffs are meaningless. Even in Adrian's mind you are no match for me."_

_ "Wrong!" Mouse shouted, jumping backwards, drawing the scimitar from chest. "You're just a weak, fetal soul that has been given consciousness through residual power from Urthemiel. If you were in the form of a dragon, I might be afraid. But since you aren't..."_

_ "Mouse!" Adrian shouted, once again repelled by some conjured object. "Your quarrel is with me, not her! Fight me fairly, coward!"_

_ "Me? A coward?" Mouse laughed. "Such ungratefulness! If not for me, your quest for defeating the Blight would never have succeeded. If not for me, you'd be dead many times over. You need me! But now that you're no longer necessary, you should be thanking me for releasing me from your troubles."_

_ "You're a saint." Adrian remarked dryly, pushed back by a door with hands. The memories were growing more substantial, more numerous. They surrounded him, locking him in a cage of fake windows and mirrors, keeping him away from Mouse and his daughter._

_ "You should have stayed in the memories, Adrian." Mouse shook his head. "Then you could have been happy. We both would have won."_

_ "Demon! Release him!" Adrian's daughter cut in, jumping away as she dodged one of Mouse's strikes. "Your cowardice knows no bounds."_

_ "You've got such a cute daughter, Adrian. I can't help but feel something for her." Mouse grinned wickedly, waving the scimitar about. "I think it's time for an abortion."_

ooo

Adrian jumped, staff impaling an archer as he slammed into the landing. The impact shook the Landsmeet chamber, blood spraying about. When the dust finally settled, Adrian stood cockily, no sign of the archer.

"Maker, what is he!" One of the archers shouted, scrambling backwards, frantically crawling away from Adrian as the mage slowly stalked them.

"Maker? There is no Maker." Adrian smiled, spinning his staff, air crackling. "So you best not waste time praying. Imaginary friends won't help you."

Saul released an arrow at the Chancellor. Adrian turned abruptly, staff intercepting the arrow before it struck his heart, slicing the bolt in two. Saul gritted his teeth, launching a second arrow, then a third. Adrian deflected both, still smiling.

"There's a reason I killed an Archdemon and survived, fools." Adrian jumped onto the railing, easily keeping his balance as he gazed around the chamber. "Fall to your knees and beg for forgiveness now, fools, lest my mood turns for the worse."

"Never!" One of the archers charged forward, his shoulders slamming into Adrian's leg. The mage's knees buckled as he slammed the staff into the archer's back, impaling him. The counter attack didn't save his balance, and the mage fell backwards over the railing. Saul didn't waste time, shooting an arrow as he fell. Fergus ran forward, urging his men to enter formation. Kylon followed, shouting orders.

"You dare fight a god?" Adrian swung his staff, catching a man in the ribs as he swung a sword at the mage. The blow near cut him in half, tossing him to the other side of the room. "You are rag dolls! Worthless! If I wiped my ass with you imbeciles and threw you away the world would be none the worse for wear!"

The archers drew their swords, rushing from the landings to combat Adrian in close quarters. They surrounded him, swords slashing, each of their strikes returned in favor with a fatal blow from the Chancellor.

"You're just a disillusioned mage, Adrian!" Saul shouted, firing another arrow through the crowd. Adrian didn't catch it in time, too busy was he tearing soldiers to pieces. It dug into his shoulder, sprouting blood.

"Your attacks mean nothing!" Adrian shouted, driving the staff through the stomach of one soldier, piercing him, the end of the staff erupting from the man's back. Adrian heaved, throwing the man into the air, laughing as he screamed.

ooo

Myr gasped, her back slamming against the wall. She quickly rolled away, narrowly avoiding a strike from Justine. As she moved, her dagger narrowly deflected a blow from Aaron.

"There was no word," Aaron kept chanting, sword weaving ever closer to Myr."For heaven or for earth, for sea or sky. All that existed was silence."

"Religious folks never quit, do they?" Myr shouted, parrying Justine's next strike before dodging Aaron's attack. Myr tossed a bolt of lightning at them for good measure. Ineffective. "How many times do I have to tell you that your Maker is nothing but superstitious lies!"

"As many times as you must, maleficar, but we shall never hear your blasphemy." Myr stared in shock, fully expecting a piece of the chant of light to follow Justine's comment. "You are a murderer and an apostate, so you must die."

"First off, I only killed when I was given no other choice." Myr backed away. Aaron and Justine didn't follow, falling back into defensive stances.

"Your reasons matter little." Aaron said, blade leveled towards Myr. "Andraste demands her subjects never use magic to rule over men. The Tevinter Imperium violated The Maker's law, and they fell to Her Blade."

"She was a barbarian warlord that heard voices in her head and interpreted them as a god talking to her." Myr rolled her eyes, dagger ready in case the templars decided to resume attacking. "All that crap about the Maker is just your religion speaking. Why would you base religious doctrine on the whims of some crazy bitch?"  
"Don't defile Andraste's memory with such slanderous language!" Aaron shouted, his sword shaking. He was going to attack if Myr kept pushing. "If only you were a proper human being, you could have followed Andraste's Chant and your life would not be ending soon."

"See? Murderous intent." Myr sighed. "I'm not the violent one here. You are. Religious people are all hypocrites."

"You killed Commander Goodson!" Justine joined in. She seemed to be in more control than Aaron was, and she was shouting the chant less. Myr pondered if there was a correlation between those two factors. Religious fervor tended to reduce self-control, as R always said.

"A necessary death. If I didn't strike first, you three would have hunted me down and I'd be struggling to survive even harder than I am now." Myr glared. Aaron seemed next to snapping.

"Your sins are your undoing." Aaron stepped forward, greatsword raised. "My sword is one of mercy. The demons shall be driven from your body as your life ebbs awat.. I shall save you with my blade's steel."

Myr bolted towards the end of the alleyway, narrowly avoiding Aaron's attack. She turned around once clear of the buildings. Aaron and Justine were close behind, but still within the alleyway. Myr concentrated, sending entropic energy towards the structures, eroding the wood and stone of their foundations. They shattered, a cascade of rock and rubble collapsing as the buildings fell apart on either side of the alleyway, burying Aaron and Justine.

"Finally..." Myr sighed, staring at the carnage. "Finally... you're dead. I'm free."

The elf started laughing. It had seemed almost hopeless a few seconds before. Her plan seemed a crazy joke. Now the relief spread through her entire body, shaking her to the core. She... won? It was almost too hard to believe.

Myr snapped to attention, concentrating on the rubble. A small pebble rolled down from the top, followed by a second.

"Probably nothing..." Myr stared, backing away slowly. "It can't-"

A hand appeared from behind the mound, followed by a second, then a third and fourth. Steel plated hands...

"No..." Myr nearly fell backwards as Aaron and Justine climbed over the rubble, weapons in hand. They were shaken but unharmed. "No... it can't be."

"And so we burned. We raised nations, we waged wars," Aaron chanted, slowly walking towards Myr, sword pointed forward. "We dreamed up false gods, great demons who could cross the veil into the waking world, turned our devotion upon them, and forgot you."

ooo

Rayne kept sprinting, ignoring the growing pain and coldness in her arms and legs. The dagger led her onwards, pointing towards the palace. She could hear the crowd now, their shouts echoing through the empty night air. They seemed confused, if a crowd could have emotions.

Still, the dagger pressed her onwards, willing her up ladders, onto roofs. She could see the extent of the riot she had caused. Thousands of people packed themselves in front of the castle, held back by guards. They seemed worried, somehow. The guards kept glancing towards the door.

Rayne snapped her attention towards the front of the palace. R appeared, walking to the center of the platform, gazing across the crowd. When he spoke, every eye in the courtyard turned to face him, every ear hanging on his words. He was confident, his voice echoing through the entirety of the district as if magically amplified.

"People of Denerim." R started. Rayne ran closer, climbing the stairs towards the platform. Luckily she was already behind the guard line, so she had a clear path to R. "Teyrn Fergus Cousland is battling Adrian Amell as we speak. The Chancellor is a powerful mage, a man capable of slaying an Archdemon. He is the same man who saved Ferelden from the Blight, who saved each person here.

"You are assembled here because you think that his sacrifice has not given him the right to rule every aspect of your existence." R continued, arms raised as he addressed the crowd. "And you are right! No man deserves to control you! No outside force holds that right! This uprising proves that man can choose their own path. We can force our own opinion to get what we want!"

Rayne noticed none of the guards moved to stop R. He had them all in his pocket, the bastard. He had planned this from the beginning. The revolution, the fight, even the location of the final battle.

"We should not be held down by doctrine!" R shouted, every man raptly listening. "We should fight for what we value, not for what some arbitrary third party tells us is right! There is but one truth in this world, one value we should uphold, one circumstance that cannot be denied.

"We live, therefore we decide how to survive! Nothing else matters!" R shouted. The audience seemed confused at his words. "We need no commandments to hold us in place, no gods to hold us in line. We should act, feel, think in the ways we must to ensure our continued propagation, not in ways that adhere to shaky traditions. Tradition is but a meaningless triviality that serves no purpose!"

Parts of the crowd broke in cheering, others were less eager, uncertain at the point R was trying to make. R continued to speak and Rayne felt herself stop, listening.

"This is the only life we have, citizens of Denerim." R shouted, emotion written on his face. But what emotion was it? Anger? Anxiety? Happiness? Rayne couldn't tell. It seemed as if it was every one of the above, every emotion possible, whichever seemed to fit the situation best, whichever emotion a person in the audience wanted it to be. "If we waste this existence we do not deserve to call ourselves sentient. People of Ferelden! Rise up and take control of your destinies. There are no gods to comfort you in your failures in the afterlife. No ancestors looking down upon you from the heavens. There is nothing but this life. This existence!

"So choose your own path. Don't rely upon another to guide you. Do not listen to me, or your King, or your god. Listen to yourself." R stopped, lowering his arms. The crowd hesitated, not knowing how to react. R didn't wait for a response, simply walking towards the palace door, raising his hand.

ooo

_"No!" Adrian shouted, bashing open another door. He could see Mouse and his daughter fight; he could see the demon gain ground. She was losing._

_ "I was right. You are no challenge." Mouse sidestepped, scimitar striking hers, throwing her sword arm wide. Mouse stepped into the blow, his free hand wrapping around her neck, dragging her into the air._

_ "D-Demon... I will... destroy you." Her heterochromatic eyes burned, but her arms fell limp, her sword clattering to the ground. Mouse smiled._

_ "Face it, Urthemiel." Mouse squeezed, forcing a gasp from her. "I have won."_

ooo

Saul jumped aside as the door to the Landsmeet chamber blasted open, wood splinters scattering across the room. Most of the soldiers who still lived turned, wondering who could have broken Adrian's enchantment.

"Mouse!" R strode into the room, hood down to his shoulders, red eyes shining. Adrian froze, looking at him, tossing away a soldier who strayed too close.

"You..." Adrian laughed, throwing his head back. "I knew it. I knew you were behind all of this! Perfect! I can smash this resistance and secure my immortality all at the same time."

"My eyes have watched you far longer than this, Mouse." R kept walking forward, forcing his way through the soldiers. "It's time I put an end to this. To you."

"You think you can kill me?" Adrian smirked. "I own this city. Not even Dumat would be able to cast me down, if he even still lived!"

"I will not repeat Harach's mistake." R stretched out his hand, black staff appearing. "When he separated us, I vowed to prevent your pride from tainting this world further."

"Your revolution is a bit overkill for an attempt to get at me, Vilhm Madon." Adrian spun his staff, still smiling. "I looked for you for a long time. Once I've reabsorbed you, I'll once again be able to shape this world how I pleased. Just relax. We'll be whole again soon."

"That arrogance will be your undoing." R jumped towards Adrian, staff first, shouting. "Witness Gaxkang!"


	21. Death of a Hero

**Chapter 20: Death of a Hero**

Aaron and Justine crawled over the rubble slowly, swords gripped defensively. Myr backed away, her dagger meekly pointing towards the templars. It was a weak defense, she knew, but she was getting desperate, scared. R always said fear was what kept people alive, but too much would spell your death. Myr definitely had too much.

"Where's Saul when I need him...?" Myr cast a crushing prison on Aaron, but he easily shrugged it off. Either not enough power, or their templar abilities were too strong. Neither was a good sign.

"Face it, maleficar." Justine gasped, brushing black hair from her eyes. She had been hurt by the collapse after all, but Myr wasn't sure where. Aaron seemed fine. "Andraste has decreed that you do not emerge victorious. Her Holiness' will shall be done."

"Always with the fervent worship..." Myr rolled her eyes, trying to diffuse her rising panic. "Don't you think it's an oxymoron that your religion preaches nonviolence yet has its own personal army to hunt down those who dissent? What have I done wrong?"

"You were born." Aaron seethed, reaching the bottom of the rubble. Justine soon followed. "You mages are all the same. Arrogant, twisted and violent. Maker forgive me, but you all need to die."

"Aaron!" Justine stared at him, somewhat shocked. "The Maker has love for all His children, and Andraste watches over all equally. Just because some need a firmer hand to guide them down the path of light does not mean they must die. Maybe we should just capture her?"

"Would you, please?" Myr said glibly, backing away another few steps.

"She's a murderer, Justine." Aaron shot back. "She's not worthy of life. Myr Surana will die by my hand. You are too forgiving."

"I won't agree but... maybe we have no choice. She did kill the Commander." Justine readied her blade. "I still don't feel right about killing her. Our presence forced her into this position."

"Does Commander Goodson's death mean nothing to you?" Aaron shouted back, stepping towards Myr threateningly. The elf stepped back in response, glancing behind her to check for escape routes. "Andraste demands retribution!"

"Very well..." Justine replied weakly. Aaron charged.

"Those who thought to claim heaven by violence destroyed it." Aaron chanted, his strike narrowly missing Myr, her jump to evade almost too slow, surprised as she was by the sudden attack. "What was golden and pure turned black."

"You do know those are myths, right?" Myr parried a strike from Justine, lunging forward for good measure. Not a good choice, as she found herself losing ground as she struggled to avoid Aaron's sudden onslaught. "They aren't true! Stop hanging on to falsehoods!"

"Those who had once been mage-lords, the brightest of their age," Justine chanted, closing for a strike. Myr had to jump to the side to avoid her, only to nearly stumble as she dodged Aaron's next attack.

"Were no longer men, but monsters." Aaron finished for her. Myr felt the exhaustion in her legs, the continual fear building up within her. At this rate, she would lose. Myr knew she couldn't go on defending and dodging forever. She needed something offensive.

"You can shove your Maker." Myr gasped out, her breathing becoming labored. Neither of the templars had landed any real hits on her, and Aaron only had a small stab wound in his left leg. But if those two kept pushing, she was dead.

Distracted by the desperation growing within her, Myr tripped over a piece of wood. Justine saw the chance to strike, raising her shield as she closed in. Myr launched a fireball as she fell, hoping to force Justine away.

It dissipated harmlessly. No matter how many times Myr struck, her attacks could do nothing. Aaron and Justine were too powerful, their anti-magic too strong. Myr recoiled as Justine's shield impacted her chest, knocking her back several feet. Her left foot gave out, sending her tumbling to the ground.

"These truths the Maker has revealed to me: As there is but one world, one life, one death, there is but one god, and He is our Maker." Justine pointed her sword at Myr's neck, still chanting. The elf tried to scramble away, but she was pinned down, Justine's sword at her throat. "They are sinners, who have given their love to false gods."

ooo

Saul's hand trembled, his bow shaking. Most of the soldiers had fled, fearful of getting caught in the crossfire between Adrian and R. The young Cousland struggled backwards, his eyes barely registering the blows the two exchanged. They moved too fast to measure, staves ringing as they impacted each other.

"How pitiful that you think you can defeat me." Adrian's golden staff seem to pop in and out of existence as he struck left and right. "You spent years trapped within the Juggernaut armor in those ruins while I had free reign over the Fade."

"You were one of many test dogs the Circle used on mage apprentices during their Harrowings. Hardly free reign." R cracked a smile, blocking every attack. "I thought an existence guarding an ancient artifact was a more worthwhile endeavor. Until I realized you had broken free, at least. The ard part was convincing those shades to take my place."

"You expect me to believe you could feel me? That you could track my movements?" Adrian's smile disappeared, his next few blows gaining force. Saul felt the Landsmeet chamber vibrate with every strike, every blow shaking him to the core.

"Yes, because your arrogance blinded you to me." R remained composed, his stance suggesting he was remaining defensive. "You assumed you could have free reign across Thedas, that your possession of Adrian would give way in little time. Your self assurance made you ignore my presence, eventually making you deaf to me."  
"All abominations succumb to the demon eventually. It is a given fact of this land." Adrian swung his staff, but R jumped back. Saul fell to his knees as Adrian's staff impacted the wall, leaving a large crater. "Even the mighty Flemeth is human no longer."

"Yet Adrian held you back for over a year. Impressive, isn't it?" R snickered, dodging another blow. "He's more powerful than you realize, if you truly value yourself so highly. Or maybe you're just less impressive than you like to think?"

"When I reabsorb you, I'll torment that snide consciousness of yours for eternity, Gaxkang." Adrian stuck out his hand, electrical energy shooting towards R. The green robed man moved his staff to intercept the blow, dissipating it harmlessly.

Saul had since let his bow drop, knowing his arrows would be useless. What he was witnessing was beyond human. These were abominations? Their power seemed inhuman, their reflexes and endurance beyond mortal expectations.

But the image of both seemed to contradict each other. R, or Gaxkang, a man of manipulation and subtlety, dressed in a faded green robe and no evidence of any ornate designs or jewelry, wielding a staff the color of pitch; Adrian, or Mouse, a man of arrogance and power, dressed in vibrant reds and purple, golden bracelets jingling on his arms, a circlet on his head, wielding a staff of a vibrant gold.

Neither one was good, but Saul felt neither was evil, either. These were Fade creatures, unable to be judged by mortal laws or rules. The Chantry would call them evil, but Saul couldn't help there was something different. Something more than black and white.

"Saul! We need to get out of here!" Fergus grabbed his shoulder; Sergeant Kylon stood a short ways behind him. "Whatever these things are, they are too much for us. We must escape!"

"This was a game..." Saul said quietly, enraptured by the vicious display of power before him. "I was nothing but a tool. None of us were."

"What nonsense are you speaking, brother?" Fergus said nervously, glancing to the fight.

"It's beautiful..." Saul dropped his bow, eyes fixated towards Gaxkang and Mouse. "I have to see this. I need to see this. We are faced with creatures with such power as to seem godlike, fighting each other with little concern to the well-being of others. What insignificant beings we are, Fergus. Compared to them... we are nothing."

ooo

_"F-Father..." Adrian struggled against the hands pulling him backwards, the obstacles forever appearing in front of him. Yet through them all, he could see Mouse's hand tighten around her throat, his smile boring into Adrian's soul._

_ "Listen to her speak, Adrian." Mouse laughed, proudly displaying the helpless girl he was choking. "Listen to her die. You know what happens here affects the real world, and I'm no sorceress, unlike this little shit. There are no spells at work here. Only death."_

_ "Let her go!" Adrian shouted, his staff tearing apart another illusion as it gripped him. The memories around him shifted wildly, but they always allowed him to see Mouse, holding his daughter aloft._

_ "Or what? You'll kill me?" Mouse rolled his eyes. "Spare me the drama. She's going to die, and so are you. Then I'll finally have the freedom to regain the rest of my power, and this world will be mind to control. I'll be stronger than Dumat, more beautiful than Urthemiel, more cunning than Gaxkang. I'll be perfect! Eternal!"_

_ Adrian swung his staff, shattering a glass soldier that appeared out of the memories. Another swing destroyed a door, and a third shattered a twisted visage of his mother. Adrian shouted, but he didn't hear. All he could focus on was his daughter, the fist that gripped her throat and the bastard who owned it._

_ Mouse laughed. Adrian shouted. She gasped for air. Everything became muted, distant. Adrian concentrated, confused and frightened. He saw images flash before his eyes as his anger grew, his rage surpassing even his odium for the Maker. The memories around him shook, swirling as he concentrated on Mouse and his daughter._

_ He saw cities crumbling, a golden city turning to decay and blackness. He saw great dragons slumbering in mighty tombs, legions of darkspawn rampaging across the land, shrieks of mothers, children, elders._

_ Adrian focused, despite the visions. He saw only Mouse, he saw only his daughter. Around him the world burned, and he cared not. The five blights raged about him in seconds, the shrieks of the dying consuming all semblance of sanity or sound._

_ Visions consumed everything, dragging him away from Mouse. He saw a mighty city of towers, blood running in the streets. He saw a blackened dragon, its silenced roar echoing across time itself, its power seemingly unmatched as it led a horde of darkspawn. He saw a mighty mage-woman leading a charge against Minrauthos, fire and passion in her eyes as she fought for what she believed, ten thousand swords at her back. He saw her burn, a sword thrust through her heart, eyes staring emptily towards the sky._

_ He saw legions of Qunari burn the land, their conquest met unmatched as they consumed Rivain. Arlathan fell around him, besieged by humans from a distant land, weapons tearing lives from the immortals._

_ Vilhm Madon appeared before him, a simple storyteller from distant lands exploring a vaguely familiar ruin. Adrian silently watched as he pried the top from an ancient elven tomb, as a great revenant reached out, draining his life and stealing his body._

_ And still he focused, drawing power from these memories. He saw Mouse's hand twitched. He saw himself fighting a man in green, his black staff arcing left and right._

_ "Let her go!" Adrian shouted, and his call was heard._

ooo

"This is the end for you, maleficar." Aaron grinned, kicking Myr's dagger out of her hand. Fear gripped her heart, staring at the two templars standing over her. If she moved, she died. If she stayed still, she died.

"We've already defeated her, Aaron." Justine said, shifting on her feet. "Maybe it's best if we just tied her up and took her back to the Circle to be judged. It isn't our place to deliver a death sentence."

"But it is! We are templars! We serve Andraste, and so she must die!" Aaron shouted, raising his greatsword. Myr braced herself, preparing herself for the end.

"Can you make it quick?" Myr said quietly, staring at Aaron. "And I hope you don't mutilate me too badly. I'd like to be a good looking corpse."

"I shall do as I wish, maleficar." Aaron pointed his blade at Myr's chest, preparing to lunge downwards. "Make your peace with the Maker."

"No wait!" Justine said, ushering him back, breaking her attention from Myr. The elf scooted herself backwards as Aaron's sword came down, digging into the ground between her legs, ripping her robe.

Myr scrambled for her dagger, struggling to get to her feet before the templars could take another stab at her. Feeling her hands close around it, she threw the dagger, aiming at Aaron's unarmored head.

Blade sunk into flesh, through bone. Aaron looked shocked, staring at Justine. Myr stood quickly, swearing to herself. Blood dripped off Justine's face as the templar looked ahead blankly, dagger sticking out of her left eye. She wavered for a second before dropping her sword, sinking to her knees before falling on her face. Dead.

"J-Justine..." Aaron backed away, greatsword loosely gripped in his hand. "You... killed her..."

"I was aiming for you." Myr explained grimly. "I missed."

Aaron's back shook, the plates on his metal gloves complained as he tightened his grip. Rage visibly seeped from the templar as he slowly turned to face Myr. The elf stepped backwards, frantically searching for a weapon.

Myr jumped back as Aaron's greatsword slammed into the ground in front of her. The templar screamed incomprehensibly, his rage fueling his every action, blindly swiping at Myr. The elf frantically sidestepped, jumped, anything to avoid being torn in two by his heavy blade.

"Would it help if I said sorry?" Myr dived under Aaron's sideswipe, rolling, then bolting towards Justine. She felt a burn as something slashed across her back, but Myr ignored it, diving towards the fallen templar's sword.

"DIE!" Aaron screamed, slamming his greatsword down at Myr. She raised the sword in time to block, but the weight of the blow knocked her back, tripping her over the dead templar's corpse. The elf barely avoided the next strike, ignoring the pain in her back.

"That's right. Let your anger out." Myr said sarcastically, fueling Aaron's rage. She was looking for something, anything, that would allow her to get through his wild swings. The templar was a madman, striking blindly at Myr.

Aaron reared his massive sword behind his head before bringing it down to strike at Myr. The elf sidestepped to her left, rushing forward. She cut into Aaron's leg, slicing upwards. The templar fell, and Myr spun, driving the blade under into his right armpit, cutting deep. Aaron yelled, dropping the greatsword.

Myr drove the sword under the bottom of Aaron's chestplate, into the small of his back. The templar screamed in agony, thrashing about on the ground even as Myr drew the blade. He turned onto his side, gazing hatefully up at Myr, coughing up blood.

"I'll... find you." Aaron said, eyes filled with anger. "I'll kill you... Vengeance will..."

Myr didn't respond. She turned, heading towards Justine's corpse. Bending over, Myr bit her lip as she felt the pain in her back. She ignored it, focusing on freeing her dagger from the dead templar's eye. Aaron thrashed about behind her, but his shouting was growing weaker, more labored.

Myr tore the necklace from Justine's neck. Her phylactery hung from the end; a small glass vial filled with her blood. So much trouble, so much death, just for a tiny trinket. She pocketed it before standing, glancing at the templar lying a few yards away.

"Find peace in your god, Aaron." Myr whispered quietly, walking from him. She didn't look back.

ooo

Rayne could step around the corner. Adrian lay beyond, the object of her burning revenge. He was the source of her anger, her hate. He ruined her life, betrayed her. He tried to kill her!

Yet this hesitation persisted. Revenge would not propel her forward, it would not force her to take this step. Rayne felt shallow, weak. She ran away from everything. Her responsibility to the Alienage, from Soris, from Shianni. From Adrian. Instead of taking life in stride, Rayne rebelled. She dismissed it as injustice, as being manipulated by some distant system, but in the end she was just a coward.

"Take the step, Rayne." She turned, her hand jerking Blightblood from its sheath, stopping herself just before slicing the head off of the elf who sneaked up behind her.

"Like you care, Zevran. This is just another game for you, an entertaining show while you pander about for the greatest profit." Rayne grimaced, sheathing her sword. As much as she would like to take off the assassin's head, she knew she wouldn't. She couldn't. She was weak.

"And you don't do the same?" Zevran smirked, leaning his shoulder against the wall of the palace. "Did you not drag me by the loins about Denerim in a wild quest for revenge?"

"You only helped in order to get me under R's thumb." Rayne narrowed her eyes. Of all the ways she could kill this elf... but none of them seemed appealing anymore.

"He made a good offer. That wasn't until after we broke into the palace. The guy's a damn good spy. Better than me, I think." Zevran shook his head. "Damn near fooled me with his disguise."

"Disguise?" Rayne wasn't sure she wanted to hear. This entire charade reeked of scheming and cloak-and-dagger dealings.

"He said he took on the identity of a fallen knight of Highever," Zevran said, shrugging. "A Ser Gilmore or some such. R said because Ser Gilmore was dead, it was almost too easy. Could've fooled me, and would've if he hadn't revealed himself after I broke his nose."

"You made the deal while I was with Adrian?" Rayne widened her eyes in surprise. She never even suspected Zevran at the time! It was a tiny window, so how could he...? "None of this makes sense anymore. All I wanted was to get my revenge, not to be caught up in some mad power struggle-"

"So take the step. Finish this. Waltz on in there and stick that trusty dagger of yours in Adrian's back." Zevran straightened, his face dead serious. "It isn't too hard to kill people, unless you've got a soft spot for them. Usually I hesitate after I kill people, not before. All people are different, I guess."

"I don't know what to do." Rayne admitted slowly.

"As much as I'd love to, I can't make that decision for you." Zevran backed away slowly, moving ever closer to the shadows. "I still can't help but stare at your body, even now. My apologies."

Zevran vanished, disappeared into the night like a true assassin. Rayne was even more confused than before, but now the hesitation was gone. She had her decision. The solution to getting her revenge, her response to events unfolding around her...

Rayne turned, elevating her foot to make that step. That one step that would force her to join the conflict, to fight Adrian. This one step that would force her to choose between two ambiguous concepts she didn't even have a clear opinion of.

She swung the foot around, turning a full three-sixty, planting the foot in front of her. She was abandoning revenge. Abandoning Adrian. Denerim held nothing for her anymore, not even her love. Now she would take the first steps she had in the year since Soris' execution that were not motivated by fear or anger.

Every step took every ounce of her strength. Every movement demanding she turned around. Every reasonable thought in her mind demanded she take her retribution. Every impulse demanded to feel Blightblood sink into Adrian's back. Yet she knew this was the right choice.

"I knew you'd come around." Zevran's voice whispered from the shadows.

ooo

It was almost imperceptible, but Saul saw sweat trickle from Rs brow. Not that the young Cousland knew which to vote for, he knew that R was less likely to kill him just for sticking around to watch to fight. It was better, then, to hope R won, which didn't seem to be the current forecast.

Adrian had knocked away R's staff, so he was blocking and striking with his fists now, still too fast to be perceived. R seemed confident before, but now every blow was accompanied with labored breathing, slowed reflexes – he took more than one blow to the body from Adrian's strikes, blows which Saul watched tear apart men – and a general stressed look. He was sweating, blood ran from scrapes and there was no opening to make a grab for his staff.

Fergus and Kylon were long gone, as were all the guards. Saul stood alone in the chamber with the two fighting men – no, not men, but creatures – his hands loosely grasped about his bow. The weapon was useless here, with Adrian's inhuman coordination. If a man was capable of intercepting arrows with his staff, it was unlikely Saul would do any help.

"Not so cocky now, Gaxkang?" Adrian mocked, his staff impacting R's right cheek. The strike nearly sent the green-robed man off balance, but he maintained composure, blocking his other attacks. "If you weren't so blind to my power, you might still have some measure of hope, not that you could defeat me in any case."

"You judge too quickly!" R jumped in a break between Adrian's blows, kicking the Chancellor soundly in the side, sending him tumbling. R raced for his staff, but Adrian arrive first, slamming his staff into the green-robed man's chest. R went tumbling, lying facedown on the ground, unmoving.

"Apparently not." Adrian laughed. It was a haunted, chilling laugh, one meant to scare and intimidate. He slammed the staff into R's back once, then twice. "It's over, old friend."

"It's never over." R reached his hand up as Adrian's staff came down. Saul heard the clang of metal on metal before he saw it. R had somehow acquired a sword and used it to block the strike. Adrian jumped back when R swung, defensively changing position. If Saul wasn't so uncertain, he would have thought he saw worry flash briefly across Adrian's face.

"I figured you'd still have the Keening Blade." Adrian twirled the staff, suddenly less willing to mount an offensive. "No matter. It spares me the trouble of searching for it once I kill you."

"A wise man never reveals all his cards until the very end." R swung the sword through the air, the vibrations of the blade ringing painfully in Saul's ear. "We both know this dance must close; the song has long finished."

"But still I hear the music!" Adrian shouted, grinning. They circled slowly, each unwilling to make the first move. Saul felt himself back away, dread growing within his stomach, though he could not tell why.

"Then it's time to kill that damned conductor." R lunged, Keening Blade leading. Adrian shouted, staff twirling as he moved to intercept.

ooo

_Mouse's hand loosened, his grip relaxing. She dropped to the ground, coughing. Adrian rushed forward, shouting, but he heard nothing. The memories swirled furiously around him, dragging him towards the demon, towards his target._

_ "I OWN YOU!" Adrian heard the demon's screams, but cared little. Mouse reached towards him, mentally grappling him, throttling him. But Adrian held on, the memories backing him, reaching his own hands out to grip Mouse's neck._

_ Furiously they struggled, hands around the others throat, each grimacing with pain. Mouse struggled furiously. But Adrian could feel his mind, feel his thoughts. Images of glory and power, mountains of gold and legions of servants all bowing simultaneously._

_ Adrian saw fortresses made of snow-white marble, he saw gods bending knee to their almighty ruler, Mouse. He saw the Black City grow golden again, alight with the holiness of Mouse, demon of Pride, not the Maker._

_ "I... own... this... world!" Mouse thrashed, his form dissolving. No longer was he man, but beast, his true form given shape._

_ This was no creature of understandable proportion, but Adrian recognized it for it was. This was not just Mouse, but pride itself. Pride of success, of power, of wealth and influence, but also pride of a simple farmer's day of work, of a child pleasing his parent, of a man winning a tournament._

_ Images surged through Adrian's head as the hands around his neck disappeared, replaced by this choking emotion, this complicated process. The reason for pride was power, the reason it could manipulate and destroy so many, the reason so many had died to satiate the lust of one demon._

_ The mind of the demon laid bare before him, Adrian expanded his own. He conquered this, possessing the demon itself. He slipped into every crevice, every corner, every hiding place. No location was overlooked as Mouse's presence slipped away, replace by his own, himself._

_ The demon of Pride thrashed pitifully about, screaming first of vengeance, then of help, then it simply whimpered. Adrian forced his consciousness fully inside, destroying whatever was left. The screaming stopped. Mouse was silent. Dead._

_ And then Adrian stood alone in the whiteness, the memories, the mind. Mouse was gone, or rather no longer existed as was considered natural._

_ "Shit..." Adrian turned. His daughter stood before him, her second black scimitar reclaimed. If she was capable of expressing shock, her mouth would have hung to the floor._

_ "I think I'd say something equally eloquent in your situation." Adrian smiled back cockily._

_ "I didn't think reverse possession worked." She said bluntly, still staring at him. "I just thought we were both fucked."_

_ "I can't let my only daughter die on me." Adrian approached, laying his hand on her head. "You came here to save me, after all. If you were to die in the process, I'd never hear the end of it from your mother."_

_ "Time for me to go then, I guess." She shrugged, removing his hand. "Congratulations, but I think this is goodbye. Forever."_

_ "I still have questions."_

_ "Then ask."_

_ "How did you get here? Are you a manifestation of Urthemiel, or are you human? Does your mother know about this? Why-"_

_ "Enough!" She stared, mildly annoyed. "I hate questions, you know. I'm only answering one, so choose wisely."_

_ "One?" Adrian slumped his shoulders, distressed. "If I only get one, then..."_

_ "Hurry up." She snapped._

_ "What's your name?" Adrian said slowly._

_ Suddenly the young girl in the black dress seemed just that. For the first moment since Adrian had seen her, she actually seemed... normal. She stared up at him, perplexed look on her face. Despite everything they had been through, she always seemed distant, always hiding some information. She never seemed like a little girl, but as something else entirely. Maybe she really wasn't normal, but that wasn't the point._

_ And she told him. Adrian nodded slowly, and she backed away slowly. The black scimitars disappeared as she faded away, and in that last glimpse of her presence, Adrian knew he still had one last thing to do before he died._

_ She smiled, and then she was gone._

ooo

Adrian opened his eyes slowly. For the first moment in some inconceivable amount of time, real firelight illuminated the world around him. Real scents pervaded his nostrils. Real sounds filtered in from around him. Real air danced into his mouth.

Real blood dripped from his chest.

It took Adrian a moment to realize he had a sword sticking out of his chest. There was an unfamiliar man holding it, staring into his eyes. His faded green robes contrasted the beauty of his shining red eyes, though Adrian wasn't sure if he was supposed to be celebrating the fact that his killer looked good in green.

"What the hell happened?" Adrian looked around slowly, finally registering the carnage around him. Bodies hung from the ceiling, plastered against walls from their own blood, torn in pieces by some unknown destructive force. A lone man holding a bow stood at the end of the hall, though he was already turning away, walking away. Adrian knew somehow that the man had somewhere else to be, some other agenda to accomplish, that this sword wound meant the show was over. What show? What the hell happened?

"Welcome back, Adrian." The green robed man said, yanking his sword free. Adrian tottered for a slight while, somehow supporting his weight. But then he felt he was collapsing. "You've arrived too late to be saved from death."

He didn't feel the floor.


	22. Epilogue: The Center Cannot Hold

**Epilogue: The Center Cannot Hold**

She stepped forward cautiously, her foot secure on the boarding plank. She hesitated for a moment before moving her other foot forward, then taking the next step, and the next, until she stood at the deck of _The Divine Wench_.

"Are you sure about this?" Rayne asked, standing against the railing on the other side, right beside Zevran. "Would they accept me?"

"If they don't, I'll just have to kill them." Zevran replied cheerfully. "You'll have to help too, by the way."

"No issue here." Rayne glanced over her shoulder, to the docks. Shianni stood at the far end, glaring at the two of them. "Why'd you leave Shianni behind but take me?"

"Shianni never really cared for travel." Zevran yawned, turning towards the docks. "I wanted some company and she wouldn't give any."

"The great Zevran denied by a beautiful woman." Rayne chuckled, turning as well. "How shocked the world must be at this turn of events."

Rayne leaned back, looking up at the dawn sky. The light blue of the heavens gazing back at her, she felt content, despite everything. She had turned away from her revenge, turned away from Adrian, only to agree to journey with an assassin. Adrian was dead anyway, from what the rumors abounding Denerim were saying.

Life was full of surprises, but Rayne felt okay with that. Ferelden held nothing more for her. Not a home, not a family; the only place for her was the open road. Or sea, as fate would have it. A light rain started drizzling down, running off of Rayne's face as she gazed about her.

And as the ship left port, as Rayne watched Zevran wave at Shianni, she couldn't help but smile.

ooo

He approached slowly, his face already dry from the tears he cried before. There stood the graves, those of ones he cared for beyond all else. As men filtered in around him, he began to speak, to deliver one final eulogy to those that mattered most.

"A mighty man fights for more than ideals or thoughts." He spoke, staring at the two unmarked graves. His soldiers stood about him, Irregulars all, their gazes fixated upon the two stones. "Taoran, my only son, killed by his ambition, and Ryal, my closest friend, killed by his own ignorance and stubborn nature. Often it is the burden of nobody to carry the strengths of somebody. So many of us fight in silence, die in silence, to serve a nobler purpose than ourselves.

"But my cowardice caused these two men's deaths. I led Taoran to believe I had been killed by that mage assassin and he wound up dead, taking my closest friend down with him. I know not who killed them, but I feel it could have been prevented. If not for my fear, both my son and my closest friend would live to this day.

"By the Maker..." Raelnor gasped out, falling to his knees, holding back the tears. "What have my actions wrought?"

ooo

Blood washed away by the rain, but still he saw it. Blood everywhere, blood clogged his vision, his thoughts. He wished for it, cried for it. He shouted for it. He lusted for it, every fiber of his being shouting to the Maker for judgment.

The templar gripped his greatsword with his bare hands. His armor weighed him down too much and he knew he needed to rest. For if he rested now, his strength would come sooner and he would have his revenge.

Justine's corpse was all he saw, Myr's face was all he hated. The albino was a maleficar, but Aaron's hatred ran deeper. She had defied the Maker's will. How was that possible? Twice she had escaped from her hunters, twice she had outwitted and outperformed those who needed to bring her to justice.

The mighty Greagoir hunted her the first time and mistakenly thought she died when he pushed her off a cliff. He should have stabbed her! He should have hunted for a body! He should have found her and slaughtered her, but it was not so.

Why was all the luck in the world given to those least deserving? Aaron grimaced, snarling as he stood slowly, careful not to reopen his wounds.

He would heal first, Aaron thought, hobbling off towards the Chantry, and then Myr would die.

Aaron would hunt her to the edges of the earth and beyond to slay her. Only then would he be satiated.

ooo

Saul wandered about Denerim, eyes glazed over. What had he seen? He saw two creatures fight for reasons incomprehensible, their destructive power unmatched.

They both could hold off armies on their own, mighty war machines, infinitely strong and immortal. Was this the reason the Chantry vilified mages so? Because if they are possessed by demons they become... like that?

No human could compare to their power. Saul felt weak, knowing he was able to do nothing to aid in that fight. Normal people fled, terror in their hearts, because they knew they would not be able to harm them.

R was an abomination all along, one who sought to kill Adrian, who was also an abomination. In a way, it explained everything. R didn't care about humans, he wanted to get to Adrian in some virulent and violent display of power, enough to surprise the Chancellor. Enough to put Adrian off guard.

They even had their own names. Gaxkang and Mouse. Demons both. Abominations. Horrors. Terrifying creatures of unmeasurable power. This was the reason Adrian had killed the Archdemon, because he had the power of a demon within him. How ironic was it that an Abomination saved Ferelden?

Not like it mattered anymore. Saul still wandered aimlessly. He knew not where his steps led him, and part of him didn't care. Part of him still burned for his revenge, but not enough to get him moving again. Not enough to propel his feet, one over the other, towards Amaranthine.

"Saul!" He barely registered the familiar voice, didn't turn as it called again. Maker be damned, but he didn't know what to do anymore. He had seen gods fight. He had watched a god die. Was this the power of demons?

"Saul!" The young Cousland finally turned, to be barreled into by a familiar pale elf. White hair shining in the dawn light, Saul felt himself return to his senses. She was shaking. Crying. Saul closed his eyes, holding her close as Myr sobbed into his chest.

"It's okay, Myr. It's finally over." Saul said quietly, stroking her hair. The light rain fell around them in the empty streets of Denerim. He pulled away, only to notice Myr's bloody state. Saul worriedly looked her over, noting the long cut on her back, the bruise on her jaw and her ruined robes. She had been carrying a sword and her dagger, though now they lay on the ground

"I killed them..." Myr whispered quietly, looking away. Her hand clasped around a necklace Saul had never seen before. "I killed all of them. I selfishly took their lives without a second thought."

"Who?" Saul asked, stroking her hair.

"The templars. The ones hunting me." Saul understood her pain. Killing, even when necessary, was never easy if they were not callous to it through constant conflict. In time Myr would understand she did what was necessary. "It was ruthless. Bloody. I fought yet I could have avoided it... R always told me to take the initiative, but..."

"R was a demon, Myr." Saul said quietly. Myr didn't flinch. She didn't even seem surprised. "You shouldn't have trusted him."

"I knew what he was, but he was never evil." Myr looked up at Saul, her face still tear streaked. "I trusted him because I admired him. He was willing to do whatever necessary, something I could never emulate. That's why I killed those templars. I wanted to be able to make hard decisions, to be replied upon like he was."

Suddenly revenge seemed so far off, so unimportant. He held Myr close, stroking her hair as she cried.

ooo

He shrugged the cloak back onto his head, ignoring the vicious downpour. Swearing, the Grey Warden kept his armor and weapons covered, hoping the rain wouldn't damage his equipment. He had no time to spare and that included time spent repairing rusted armor. Especially Dragonbone armor and weapons, considering the pains involved in fixing that metal.

There had been frustration like this before, when Riordan led him to the borders of Ferelden to assist in the Blight only to be turned away. He had camped in the rain with little food or water or shelter, only to be told his assistance was unwanted.

Darius swore again as his foot sunk into some muddy slop, groaning as he extracted it. He should never have accepted that commission to be the new Warden Commander of Ferelden. His colleagues warned him that it would be a bad idea, but it wasn't just the natives that were making Darius' day hell.

The damnable weather, the damnable dog smell, damned near everything in Ferelden was primitive and dirty. The people were much more relaxed than the uptight nobles of Orlais, but they were so distrustful just because Darius was Orlesian. But he kept trudging onwards towards Vigil's Keep, where he would be stationed.

Hopefully this new job wouldn't carry any unpleasant or unexpected surprises. The last thing Darius Caron wanted was complications.

ooo

This was the Fade, yet it wasn't. He could see both sides, ever overlapping. He could see everything, all things mortal and fey. He stood slowly, the blood running from his wound halted. The was no pain there. Only truth.

"Welcome, Adrian." Gaxkang was kneeling before him. Adrian saw through him, to what he truly was. He was The Unbound, freedom itself given form. "Welcome to immortality."

Adrian stared over Denerim. He was more than human now. He could see truths both wondrous and mortal. He knew what no simple mage could. He had defeated the demon, done the impossible. Now the human possessed the demon, and he could see all. His power knew no bounds.

Adrian smiled, gazing at his hand. He saw through himself and knew he had one last goal, one last mission before this world burned.

"We leave for Orlais, Gaxkang." Adrian turned to the west. "Morrigan shall be found. My child will be reclaimed."


End file.
